


Patiently in Love With You

by RedAlpaca



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, talking is Hard Work, the slow burn is due to an on-off kinda thing, tony has a lil bit of drunken asshole behaviour for a bit, very VERY brief Ash/OMC, very brief Tony/OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedAlpaca/pseuds/RedAlpaca
Summary: Patience is a virtue, but patience is also a finite resource. Tony waits for Ash to love him, but Ash is afraid of stepping over the line.OR: Tony is uncharacteristically patient when it comes to Ash, Ash is skittish as hell, Alex is secretly (and reluctantly) the best wingwoman, and nobody can keep up with group chat nicknames.





	Patiently in Love With You

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a bunch of line prompts on tumblr and they looked good, so I thought I’d try to come up with a story with a bunch of them (I love prompts, okay?). Started off with a number generator to choose which ones to write but when a story started to sorta develop it got a little harder to do that. Here is the list if anyone is interested: http://rfaimagining.tumblr.com/post/159085054669/nearly-200-writing-prompts-feel-free-to-reblog .
> 
> Title is lyrics from Patiently by Folded Like Fabric

**139: “this place gives me the creeps” + 115: “that wasn’t funny”**

A large starburst of flesh and blood explodes out the back of the shoulder of his white suit when the bullet blazes through, and the last of their assailants hits the ground. The room falls eerily quiet after that, and the quiet sounds of the five fans catching their breaths are the only things filling the void of silence.

They finally take the opportunity, when their lives are not being threatened, to absorb their surroundings. The building is grand, with a high, ivory ceiling and hanging down from it, a large, glittering crystal chandelier that spans almost two metres wide. The room they’re currently standing in looks like a living space, furnished with plush velvet sofas—with their stuffing bursting through tears in the fabric, and a massive fireplace. The carpet, once a rich purple, is now dyed dark wine and black as blood seeps into the fibres. Shards of smashed glass litter the floor, from broken crystal goblets, smashed doors, and shattered coffee tables, crunching underfoot as they step around the bodies. There are fallen paintings lying on the ground, still held within their ornate gold frames. Without all the bullet holes, just one of these pieces would have likely been worth more than all of their live savings put together—hell, even _with_ the bullet holes, they still might be.

“Right,” Corey says, putting her weapons away, “we are _clearly_ in the wrong business.” 

“No kidding,” Mark replies, picking up part of a broken vase, examining the intricate patterns etched into the porcelain in gold, “everything here is infused with gold.” 

“Not too late for a change in career,” Tony pipes up. 

“Oh, don’t tempt me. You guys’ll never see me again, I’ll just be living out the rest of my life on some faraway tropical island, in sweet, sweet luxury,” Alex says as she runs her fingers over the banister made from deep brown-coloured wood, carved with intricate embellishments and polished to mirror-like smoothness.

“I’m gonna go see if there’s anything worth taking,” Ash calls out, “fuck knows how much we can make from all the rich people shit in here”. 

It’s not their usual way of doing things, lingering and searching through a building—oftentimes they’re more than eager to flee the scene before anybody else could turn up. But this place, flooded with emeralds and rubies and gold, is just begging to be looted. Ash hops his way up the stairs, leaving the others to sift through the bodies and rooms downstairs. 

He feels a sudden chill slither down his body as he reaches the top of the stairs and starts down the hallway he finds. It’s dark, very dark, and the darkness continues into a seemingly unending abyss. He musters up the courage to continue down, cautiously, and suddenly everything is too quiet. He swears the temperature up here is a few degrees below what it is downstairs. It feels like cold fingers brushing against his skin. He shivers. The hairs on the back of his neck stand as he walks past the untouched paintings up here. The portraits stare down at him with dead eyes, watching him with spiteful eyes with every step he takes into the shadows. He runs his hand along the wall, hoping to find a light-switch of sorts, but he finds nothing. His hands finally dip into what feels like a doorframe, and he feels his way down to a smooth, spherical doorknob. When he pushes the door open, he gropes for the switch, turning on the light and startles when he sees a figure standing immediately to his right, reflexes already swinging on it with a knife. 

What the blade collides with is not flesh, but a stone bust perched on a marble plinth, and it wobbles precariously before Ash catches it, stopping the heavy statue from smashing onto the ground. He laughs quietly at himself. His heart is hammering in his chest as he adjusts it back on its stand, hands still shaking. The floor below was brilliant opulence and splendour, but in the dark this place was just plain creepy. The light in this room is not very bright, but a more muted orange. He guesses it was meant to be soothing, but it only serves to ratchet up the anxiety coiling in Ash’s gut. He looks around the room. It appears to be something like a study or office, with shelves filled with books pressed against the walls on either side, and in the centre further back, a desk blanketed with loose pieces of paper. The air is still. 

He rummages through the drawers, taking anything that looks like it might be of value, while also throwing wary glances over his shoulder every time he thinks he may have heard a noise. They hadn’t been up here, he realises, and there could be people here, waiting for an ambush. 

Fuck, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

“This place gives me the creeps,” he mutters to himself, standing up straight. 

He quickly pockets a few pieces of jewellery that he sees sitting on one of the shelves in the room, and finds that the urge to leave grows stronger with each passing second he spends here. He tries to shake off the feeling of unease and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Goosebumps prickle along his arms. He takes one last look at the shelf, deeming it sufficiently looted. 

When he turns around, his heart bounds up into his throat and he screams, throwing himself back against the bookshelf.

The face of a man is only a few inches from his, its hollow eye sockets staring right into his own, mouth hanging agape, dried streaks of blood cutting stark lines down his face. 

The peal of familiar laughter fills the room, and Ash lets out a very deep sigh of equal parts relief and exasperation. 

“Fucking _hell_ , Tony,” Ash finally says, rubbing his shoulder where it hit the shelf, “that wasn’t funny.”

He kicks a couple of books away from his feet from where they’d fallen from the shelf. 

“No, no, it wasn’t funny, it was fucking _hilarious_ ,” Tony replies in between his laughter, dropping the body onto the ground so he could double over and clutch his stomach, “holy fuck, dude, I wish I saw your face.”

Ash crosses his arms, unimpressed, watching as Tony moves his hand as if to wipe a tear from the eye of his mask, “And _I_ wish you would just die in a fucking ditch but we can’t always get what we want, can we?” 

He pushes past Tony, throwing a cautious glare at the body on the floor, “Did you really drag a whole _dead person_ up here just to scare me?” 

“Yes, and it was well fucking worth it,” Tony says, following after him, “anyway, you done here or what? We don’t have all night.”

Ash doesn’t reply, instead he marches his way out with Tony’s sniggering at his back. He just wants to get the fuck out of there as quick as possible. 

 

**127: “what are you listening to?” + 95: “give it back”**

His feet are crossed at the ankles as they rest on the table. The twins had arrived early to the hideout, meaning they’d made the mistake of actually turning up at the arranged time as opposed to being “fashionably late”, and so they were stuck waiting on the others after having checked over all their equipment thrice to make sure they were all in good order. 

He’s browsing the internet, engrossed in a captivating news story about the man that was arrested for standing on one of the upper levels of a mall carpark and urinating on unaware passers-by below. Alex is playing games on her phone, deeply sucked into her game where she matches ladybug colours in order to make them disappear. The constant sounds of bugs falling and matching and disappearing in sparkly clouds of glitter, and the high-pitched voice of what sounds like a five-year-old girl shouting “Crazy combo!” or “Wow! Good match!” every five seconds makes him want to shove something sharp into his eardrums. 

“Could you have your volume up _any_ louder, Alex?” Ash complains. 

Alex looks up, and without a word from her or a change in expression, the shrill voice screaming out “Level complete! Great job!” reaches him, gradually becoming louder and more piercing than ever before. 

Rolling his eyes, Ash reaches into his pocket and rummages around for his pair of earphones. When he finally untangles them, he shoves the buds into his ears, and the music that drowns out the sound effects could not be more welcome. 

He doesn’t realise he’s drifted off to the gentle beats of El Huervo until one of the earphones is rudely yanked out of his ear. 

“What are you listening to?” the familiar voice croons before he even has a chance to react. 

Rubbing his now unoccupied ear, he slowly blinks awake to see upside-down amber eyes staring down at him. His head is resting against the back of the sofa, and Tony is leaning over him from behind the couch, hands braced on either side of his face. 

“I was listening to my music, asshole,” Ash puts his hand out, “give it back.” 

The refusal to properly answer his question and the demand glances off Tony, who just smirks and puts the stolen earphone into his own ear instead. Ash is still groggy, so he drops his hand and closes his eyes, waiting for Tony to start talking about how shit his taste in music is. Everything the guy does is annoying. Like dealing with a child, the best way to handle him, Ash thinks, is to just ignore him and deny him the attention he so dearly wants.

“Hmm,” he hears Tony hum, “El Huervo, nice.” 

Ash’s eyes open.

“You listen to him?” Ash asks, taking the earphone back from Tony as the latter finally passes it back by dangling it over his face. 

“Not religiously, no,” Tony replies, grinning as if proud of himself for not succumbing to his natural drive to insult Ash at any given opportunity.

He pushes off the couch, and Ash watches as he saunters over to watch Alex over her shoulder as she taps away furiously on her phone.

—

Tony likes to think that he’s got a good handle of any situation he finds himself in, determined to always have some control of what’s happening. 

So when he started this light-hearted game of cat and mouse between them, Tony never really expected to find his own palms sweating or his own heart stuttering whenever he poked and prodded at his prey. After all, he’s the one that instigated this whole thing in the first place.

Something about Ash makes it hard for Tony to leave him alone. The fact that it takes less than a breeze to ruffle his feathers is one thing, but there’s his naturally thorny exterior that poses itself like a challenge. And Tony, he loves a challenge. 

So he decides to continue batting Ash around like a toy between his paws, if only to watch his reactions with fair amusement, he tells himself. He remains persistent and obnoxious in his flirting, putting a conscious effort to slather it on thick to mask the apparently budding emotions he’d unwilling sown. He’ll just have to make sure he gets out of there before he’s in too deep. 

It’ll be fine.

 

**63: “What’s the matter?” + 105: "You owe me.”**

Tonight, they’re in a dilapidated house, situated beside a slow-running river in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. The residents had looked like your average crackheads, but once they had started to pull out their weapons and fight back, the five of them were forced to quickly learn that just because someone had no muscle and even less teeth, it didn’t mean that they weren’t quick with a knife or handy with a gun.

Underestimation had been their biggest enemy when they arrived. After Alex had snorted and looked over to Mark, making a comment about being able to snap one of them like a twig with just her pinky finger, she’d been tackled to the ground by her brother just as one of them whipped out a sawed-off shotgun and blasted the plaster wall behind her to dust. What they lacked in sheer strength, they made up for in unpredictability and dangerous weapons. Mark had been cut across the bicep with a goddamn _machete_ for God’s sake, and he’d had to have Corey staunch the bleeding after having gunned down another four of his equally bloodthirsty attackers. 

“Jesus fucking—what kind of crackhouse is this?!” Alex yells as she crawls away to seek cover behind a kitchen counter. 

“A very well-equipped one, it would seem,” Ash replies as he follows after her, ducking when a trench knife flies through the air, narrowly missing his head. He flinches when a body lands beside him with a thud, blood oozing from his crushed nose, and he shoots it in the face point-blank when the head turns to look at him, gurgling as it tries to breathe. He turns back to his sister, “Remind me again, _where_ do you get your information from? Because whoever sends you—and us—to these places, seems to want us _dead_.” 

“He’s not doing this on purpose, I’m sure, I think he’s just…unaware.” 

Ash shakes his head and he opens his mouth to reply when Alex screams at him, “Look out!”

She grabs him by the collar and yanks him towards her with all her strength, hauling him away from the man who had suddenly appeared, swinging a baseball bat over his head. The rusted nails sticking out in all directions just misses Ash’s foot as it smashes into the ground, some of them snapping from the impact, sending sharp fragments flying. The man smiles a toothless smile. He advances towards them, slowly, bringing the weapon high above his head, before a hammer comes crashing down onto his skull and the man topples to the ground, dropping his bat dangerously close to Ash’s leg. Straight away, Tony’s body is pinning him to the ground, and Tony brings the hammer down, over and over and over again onto the guys face, each hit sounding crunchier and bloodier than the last as his face caves in. When he is apparently satisfied with his handy work, he stands up, dusting his knees off. 

“What’s the matter?” Tony asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face and a bloodied hammer held loosely in his fist, “Having too much fun with your little gossip session over here while the rest of us are doing work?”

“Whatever,” Alex says, as she claims the nail bat for herself and runs off to join the fray. 

“Fuck off,” Ash retaliates pulling himself up. Tony just cocks his head, waiting until Ash is standing fully upright before he replies. 

“Oh, you’re _very_ welcome,” Tony purrs, reaching over to rest his hand on the counter behind Ash, resulting in Tony being far too close and Ash feeling very barred in. He’s thankful for the beak on his mask, keeping Tony from bringing his face any closer. 

“Tony, we don’t have time for your shit right now,” Ash says turning away from where Tony’s eyes are staring into his own, looking for anybody who might be coming at them with murderous intent, “there are people trying to kill us, in case you forgot.”

“They’re being taken care of, it's fine,” Tony assures him.

Ash sighs. He’s accustomed to Tony’s flirtatious tendencies—it was something that Tony found very amusing and something Ash found extremely irritating. Tony doesn’t like Ash—doesn’t like _guys_. So really there’s nothing behind it, just a very bored Tony, and an easily-riled target. Still, that doesn’t stop Ash from getting a little bit flustered every time Tony’s deep voice adopts a more suggestive tone. He moves as if to get around Tony, but the tiger follows him and ducks his face to look at Ash and he freezes. 

“You owe me, now” Tony says, leaning in, and Ash hopes Tony doesn’t register the way he falters. He’s glad for the masks, because Ash can feel his cheeks growing warm. 

“Do I now?” Ash says once he’s regained his composure, proud and pleasantly surprised at the way his voice remains steady, if a little quiet.

“Mhmm,” Tony hums. 

Ash reaches up to rest his arm over Tony’s shoulder, and doesn’t miss the slight surprise that Tony displays, the tensing of his arm next to Ash and the way his head jerks up a fraction, obviously not expecting Ash to actually respond with anything other than hostility. 

Then there’s the pull of a trigger, and a loud bang right behind Tony’s head, causing the Tiger to flinch and duck at the sudden noise, a hand flying to the side of his head. 

A man crumples to the ground with a thud.

Tony pulls away from Ash and turns to see a body with a clean shot to the forehead lying behind him, a length of thick chain sitting beside it. 

“You could have really deafened me with that,” Tony says, staring at the lifeless corpse and rubbing at his ear. 

“I don't like owing people” Ash says, when Tony turns back around, "you're welcome." He finally side-steps around Tony, leaving the tiger behind to watch as he jogs over to join the other three. 

 

**152: “Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night.” + 145: “Go back to bed.”**

**_[Toe-knee sent a message to Super Weenie Hut Jr.]_ **

**Toe-knee:** buttscheeks r leg sholders. _(3:08 am)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** haha, or shoulders are arm buttcheeks lmao. _(3:08 am)_

 **360 no scope:** horses walk on their fingernails. _(3:09 am)_

 **Do a barrel roll:** do you guys sleep? _(3:12 am)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** what. _(3:15 am)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** wait ash what do u mean _(3:15 am)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** ash pls explain what do u mean they walk on their fingernails!!! horses don't have fingernails???/ _(3:15 am)_

 **Leatherface:** sleep is for the weak. _(3:16 am)_

 **Leatherface:** also i have to be up in like less than 4 hours haha fuck. _(3:16 am)_

__

_\- Tony changed Ash’s name to Cinderella -_

**Cinderella:** y _(3:16 am)_

 **Toe-knee:** ur names ash, and ash is like cinder, so ur cinderlla. also ur blond. _(3:17 am)_

 **Do a barrel roll:** lmao. that’s actually shit tony. _(3:17 am)_

__

_\- Ash changed Tony’s name to my mum dropped me as a baby -_

__

_\- Tony changed Corey’s name to fuck u it was funny -_

**my mum dropped me as a baby:** not nice, my mum died a year before i was born, low blow @Cinderella )’: _(3:19 am)_

**Cinderella:** wow one whole year. that’s forward thinking! _(3:20 am)_

__

_\- Ash changed his name to 360 no scope -_

__

_\- Alex changed Ash’s name to i can’t aim -_

__

_\- Ash changed Alex’s name to i can’t aim so i use a chainsaw -_

__

_\- Tony changed Ash’s name to Cinderella -_

__

_\- Tony changed his name to Prince Charming -_

**Prince Charming:** @Cinderella you must be cinderella bc i can see that dress disappearing by midnight. ;) _(3:22 am)_

 **Cinderella:** go back to bed. _(3:22 am)_

 **Prince Charming:** : only if u join me ;))) _(3:22 am)_

 **i can’t aim so i use a chainsaw:** tony that’s gross don't do that while I'm here pls _(3:23 am)_

 **Prince Charming:** u didnt deny wearing a dress _(3:23 am)_

 **Prince Charming:** ash r u wearing a dress ???? _(3:25 am)_

__

_ >Ash Davis has left the conversation< _

**Prince Charming:** where he go. _(3:25 am)_

 **Prince Charming:** someone add him back in. _(3:25 am)_

__

_ >Mark Lawson added Ash Davis to the conversation< _

**Ash Davis:** fuccking ket me sleep. _(3:25 am)_

__

_\- Ash changed Mark’s name to Judas Bitch -_

**Prince Charming:** without me? ;) ;) ;) _(3:25 am)_

 **Judas Bitch:** sorry ash )))-: _(3:25 am)_

__

_\- Tony changed Ash’s name to Cinderella -_

**Prince Charming:** c’mon @Cinderella, lemme have a taste of the pumkpin pie hidin underneath that dres _(3:26 am)_

**i can’t aim so i use a chainsaw:** alright thats enough. everyone. super weenie hut jr is now CLOSED!!!!! and CANCELLED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _(3:26 am)_

__

_\- Alex changed her name to Leatherface -_

**Judas Bitch:** @Prince Charming YOU SHUT DOWN SUPER WEENIE HUT JR )))-:< _(3:27 am)_

 **Prince Charming:** : sorry ): _(3:27 am)_

 **fuck u it was funny:** dammit tony why would u do this. _(3:27 am)_

__

_\- Ash changed Tony’s name to like a starfish but with less brain cells -_

**like a starfish but with less brain cells:** lmao ash starfish dont even have brains. _(3:29 am)_

 **like a starfish but with less brain cells:** wait _(3:29 am)_

 

—

 

**_[Tony Armitage sent you a link]_ **

**Tony:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiARsQSlzDc _(3:58 am)_

 **Ash:** stop texting me weird stuff so late at night. _(4:01 am)_

 **Tony:** watch it a few more times n tell me u didnt enjoy it _(4:01 am)_

 **Ash:** … _(4:02 am)_

**Ash:** ok fine i enjoyed it more than i wanted to. _(4:04 am)_.

 **Ash:** will you let me sleep now? _(4:04 am)_

**Ash:** have you seen the giraffe version lmao _(4:07 am)_

 **Ash:** wait are you asleep _(4:09 am)_

**Ash:** YOU FUCKCNIGG NBASTARD _(4:13 am)_

 **Ash:** WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _(4:14 am)_

 

**92: “Are you drunk?” + 24: “You need to leave.”**

The queue to get into _‘The Junkyard’_ stretches over two blocks. The place is a cacophony of loud drunkards: guys roasting each other while also betting on how many chicks they could get to lift their skirts for them by the end of the night, and the painful, ear-piercing screeching of girls in bandeau dresses as they run around in ankle-breaking heels, colliding into spine-crushing embraces with their friends whom they had not seen in a whole twelve hours since brunch. 

Mark reaches into his old acid wash denim jacket to fish out his phone for word from Tony or Corey, shaking his head at the twins when he sees there’s been no messages. Alex flicks her hair over her shoulder and pulls her phone out of her bra, not minding the offended huff from behind her when a girl gets a face full of blonde hair. Alex is dressed nicely for once, a simple cobalt off-shoulder romper combined with a pair of strappy white heels and the face she’d put on while she deprived Ash of a bathroom for two hours.

Alex is about to press ‘send’ on her crudely worded text when they hear the hurried footsteps and following apologies of the two late members of their party (Tony’s being far less genuine) as they join them in the line. If the people behind them had any complaints regarding the addition to their waiting time, they didn’t make them known after Tony cut across each offended face with a glare that promised hospitalisation. 

“Woah, who died?” Alex says looking up from her phone. 

“My night in,” Ash deadpans. 

“Rhetorical question, smartass,” Alex shoots back, storing her phone back in her bra.

Corey glances over at Tony wearing black jeans, black boots, and his worn leather jacket with a plain light grey t-shirt underneath, and Tony glances over at Corey’s outfit; distressed black skinnies and a black velvet, halter crop top, complete with block heels—also black.

“Oh shit,” Corey says, her tone hinting at her being actually quite impressed, “we _do_ kinda match.”

“You guys excited?” Alex asks, and isn’t impressed when she’s met with only one “hell yeah” from Mark. 

“You look good,” Tony sends in Ash’s direction with a wink, and the latter rolls his eyes. 

He’s not even dressed particularly fancy, he had just chucked a maroon bomber jacket on top of the white shirt he’d been wearing all day, changed from sweats to dark jeans, and thrown on the first pair of boots that didn't have questionable stains on them.

The line crawls slowly but surely, until they reach the entrance. When they finally set foot inside, the lack of enthusiasm is filled with pure awe. Walking into the building feels like stepping through a portal from sobriety, right into an acid trip. Brilliant neon signs cover the walls in a psychedelic collage of feeding flamingos, rocking shamrocks, flying arrows, beating hearts, and Marilyn Monroe’s skirt caught in a perpetual cycle of blowing up towards the ceiling and falling back down again. Bright tubes of neon soar overhead and zip across the walls. The air is dyed with a million colours at once, like viewing the world through a pair of stained glass lenses. The five of them let their eyes wander, soaking in all the hues, letting them seep into their skin.

“Woah,” Mark takes out his phone to snap a picture, “cool.”

“Gotta admit,” Corey agrees, “this is pretty sick.” 

“It’s…really nice, actually,” Ash concedes.

“Not bad,” Tony nods, looking around and eyeing up the other patrons, “not bad at all.”

“Told you guys it was gonna be awes—ooh, drinks!” Alex calls out, pointing over at the bar. 

The featured drinks are all as sublime as the decor, the liquid taking on almost supernatural qualities as they’re poured into strangely-shaped vessels and handed to the customers. They all order something off the bar’s unique menu, eager to see if these drinks tasted as good as they looked. 

“Isn’t this pretty?” Alex asks, holding up her drink. It looks like glitter swirling in the glass within a mesmerising purple and blue vortex, “It’s called ‘Hypnosis’, a bit cliche, but it tastes _amazing_.

After wandering around, half searching and half admiring the interior, they manage to find a couple of seats around a table, enough to fit them and surprisingly unoccupied. The wall beside their table displays a beautiful, tall palm tree with bright green fronds and a never-ending supply of falling coconuts, blinking away as they teleport from the top to the bottom of the tree, then back again.

“I feel like I’m about to drink the stuff you see inside glow sticks,” Corey says before taking a cautionary sip of her bright pink drink that fluoresces under the blacklight, and her face scrunches, “ooh, that is tart.” 

“Well _I_ feel like picking a drink called ‘Chernobyl’ would have been safer if it didn’t _actually_ look like what I imagine they saw at the Chernobyl accident,” Mark says looking warily at his drink as he slides into the booth next to Alex. Somehow, they had managed to make his drink glow a radioactive green. 

“At least your drink is just one colour,” Ash joins in, “I’m no scientist, but I feel like liquid should not be able to have _multicoloured spots_.” 

“It’s pretty though,” Alex says, watching with child-like fascination as glowing pastel-coloured spots float lazily around inside Ash’s glass. 

Tony stares at his drink, swishing it around in the glass, tilting it left and right, trying to see even the slightest reflection of neon light in the liquid. The drink is so black, it appears to be a flat, opaque void, a fault in space-time where nothing exists. He can’t see any ripples or wavelets in his cup. Even surrounded by a myriad of lights and colours, it remains a simple, single shade of black. 

They spend some time sitting around and chatting, taking careful, curious sips of their drinks, until Mark and Alex begin to fuss and shuffle their way out of the booth. 

“It’s time to boogie,” Mark announces, and Corey chuckles and shakes her head at his use of the word ‘boogie’, “also to get more drinks.” 

“Hell yeah!” Alex hoots, and drags Ash out of his seat to join. 

When Tony and Corey don’t move, Tony turns to her, “Not going to join them?” 

“Nah,” Corey shrugs, “maybe later, I’m still finishing my drink. Besides, someone’s gotta be the responsible one, right? What about you? Gonna cut shapes on the dance floor?” 

Tony wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugs, “Maybe later.” 

— 

“Are you drunk?!” Alex tries to yell over the pounding music. 

The question gets lost in the deafening bass, but Ash doesn’t even need to give her a verbal answer when he stumbles into Mark on his way to the bar. After a few shots with Alex and Mark, and a couple more colourful drinks, it’s revealed that Ash has the lowest tolerance of the three. 

“Careful there, buddy,” Mark says as he catches Ash before he becomes close acquaintances with the floor, “maybe you should hold off on the drinks for a bit.” 

“Wh—no! No, I’m not even…I’m fine, the floor’s just a little…mm…slippery,” Ash slurs unconvincingly. 

Mark, arms full of stumbling Ash, looks over to Alex who is already at the bar placing another order. When she glances over, Mark waves his hand to catch her attention. He makes a cutting motion across his throat while shaking his head, nodding down towards Ash. She looks down, sees her brother who is desperately pleading with Mark to not cut him off, and she waves down the bartender and cancels the third drink. 

“C’mon buddy, let’s just dance this off, hm?” Mark urges him, “Maybe we’ll get you another drink once you can actually walk in a semi-straight line,” and Ash straightens himself up and nods, eyes glazed over and unfocused, before slithering his way into the crowd just as Alex arrives to hand Mark his drink. 

—

Ash lets himself close his eyes, swaying with the rocking movements of the bodies all around him, letting the pushes and nudges guide him to…well, wherever, really. 

A girl grabs him and dances with him for a bit, yelling out lyrics that Ash thinks might be wrong (but he doesn’t actually know the song well enough to judge), before spinning her away back into the crowd, leaving him to float with the tide of bodies once again. He dances with some people, migrating from one circle to the next, holds hands with others as they playfully swing his arms into the air, and loses his footing on more than one occasion, but with how close the bodies are pressed all around him, he doesn’t ever fall over. At one point he’s pretty sure someone pressed a small tablet into his mouth and offered him a drink to wash it down. He doesn’t remember if he accepted the offer and swallowed it, or if he’d just let it fall out of his mouth, but to be fair, he doesn’t remember what he’d been doing five seconds ago anyway. 

“Oof,” he grunts when someone beside him falls over, shoving Ash to the right and causing him to trip over his own feet. He flails his arms, trying to regain his balance, but with the sardines-in-a-can situation going on on the dance-floor, all he succeeds with is smacking his hand into a solid chest before his face follows. There are apologies and voices asking if he’s fine, but all he hears is the warm voice that speaks into his ear.

“Careful there.” 

Ash looks up and sees equally warm brown eyes (maybe, it’s hard to tell with a million different hues distorting his vision) looking down at him. Large hands curl around his biceps, pulling him up and stabilising him, but his eyes never leave the face in front of him. It’s a pretty good-looking face, objectively, with a slight shadow of stubble over his angled jaw and dark, gentle eyes, haloed by darker lashes. His hair is neat, but not overly-styled, with the black strands pushed back but not gelled down by copious amounts of product. He must have been staring for too long, panicking, because the man in front of him cocks his head to the side. 

“You alright there?” 

Ash smiles dumbly, “Y-yeah, I think so.” 

The man grins, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth, and Ash, drunk out of his mind and already losing his ability to support himself, feels his knees buckle. Luckily, the man’s still got a steady grip on Ash, and he feels it tighten around him. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” the guy mutters, laughing softly, “do you need to sit down?” 

Ash shakes his head, “I—no, I think I’m good I just—”

“Need someone to hold you up for a bit?” the man finishes for him, looking down at him, still grinning, revealing a sharp canine. 

Ash blinks up at him, before he returns the smile except with more coquettish intent, “Are you offering?” 

— 

“Look at them go,” Corey points out like she’s watching fish in an aquarium, “it’s like a train wreck. You don’t wanna watch, but you can’t look away.” 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “that’s one way to put it.” 

They look on with both mild disgust and mirth as Alex, dressed beautifully, wiggles her body in an unnatural fashion and thrashes her arms about. They both wince when Alex clotheslines an unfortunate soul in her attempt to dance.

“Does she—does she think that’s dancing?” Corey asks, voice filled with nothing but intrigue now, “Is she doing it on purpose to be funny? I—I don’t…it looks like she’s in pain.” 

“It’s…it’s something,” Tony says, equally fascinated, “it’s really something.” 

Corey is stirring her fourth drink with a straw, knocking the shot glass inside around and ensuring the Jägermeister is sufficiently mixed, and Tony is tapping his finger on the side of his bottle of beer. They’d had enough of the fancy, mysterious concoctions. After Corey and Tony split the cost on something called ‘The Cactus’, it had simultaneously frozen the inside of their mouths while singeing their tastebuds off and they weren’t entirely sure if it was even safe anymore. So they decided to go back to the known and familiar.

“I hope Ash is still alive,” Corey says, “last time I saw a glimpse of him he was clinging onto Mark for dear life. It was like watching a newborn foal walk for the first time.”

Tony snorts. It was definitely an apt description, seeing as both had long legs they weren’t able to balance on. As if to prove Corey’s point, a small commotion on the dance floor draws Tony’s attention to where Ash is attempting to gain control of his two left feet. He stifles a laugh with his drink, that is, until he watches as Ash falls into the apparently capable hands of some tall, dark, and handsome stranger. It’s like witnessing a movie cliché; a horrible, overused movie cliché. He watches the way Ash glances up, uncharacteristically coy, focused on the way Ash seemingly melts into those hands curled around his arms, eyes narrowing when the man in turn, grins down lasciviously at the blond.

Something ugly surges forward in his chest. Something very ugly. 

At the sight of Ash reciprocating the grin with a small smile of his own, Tony turns away and chugs a mouthful of his drink. He’s drunk. So fucking drunk. 

He hears Corey laugh, but she sounds like she’s in the distance, “Tony,” she calls out, laughing, “look at—look at them, oh my god.” 

“I’ll be back,” he says, a little more curt than he’d wanted, and he pushes off his chair and heads straight for the bathroom. 

The water splashes against his face. The cool water feels like heaven against the suffocating heat simmering under his skin. He tears out a few sheets of paper towel to wipe the droplets off before leaning against the sink. His mind is swimming with muggy thoughts floating within the alcohol-ridden haze of his brain. He closes his eyes and takes a few breaths in an attempt to clear out the fog. 

What’s wrong with him? 

Ash. 

Of all people, it had to be Ash. 

He thinks about the way Ash had smiled up at the stranger. A stranger, someone he’d only known for less than a minute. Tony feels an irrational surge of anger and jealousy in his chest, sober enough to know it’s partly the alcohol’s fault, and drunk enough to not give a shit. He’s been on the receiving end of Ash’s smiles before, but not like that. Never like that. His knuckles blanch with the grip he has on the black marble sink, illuminated by a giant, buzzing neon arrow sitting above his head. He shakes the few remaining drops of water out of his hair and pushes off the sink. 

Fuck this. 

“Fucking— _fuck_ ,” he spits out at no-one in particular, except maybe the wide-eyed man standing sheepishly at the entrance of the bathroom, unsure of what to do when a very large, very angry man is swearing and having a breakdown in a public bathroom. Tony strides towards the exit, and the man shrinks. Tony fixes him with a fatal glare, “Move.” 

“S-sorry, sorry,” the man stutters, shuffling out of the way and crab-walking into the bathroom just as Tony shoves his way out. 

Corey eyes him warily when he dumps himself back into his seat, face red and looking completely drained. 

“Alright?” Corey asks, patting his back, “Need a cab?” 

Tony shakes his head and runs his hand back and forth over his head a couple of times in a frustrated gesture, built-up emotions and energy thrumming through him as he resists the urge to run over there and just—just—

He leans forward with his elbows on either side of his abandoned drink, pressing his hands to his face. 

“I’m good, just needed to…” he waves his hand in a vague motion, “clear my head a little.” 

Corey leaves him to stew after that, with only an expression of concern, and Tony looks over to the dance floor to look for the others. Alex and Mark are still having the time of their lives, but he sees them slowly inching back to their table, throwing some bad dance moves in here and there on the way, pointing to Corey and Tony as they yell some off-key lyrics in their direction. 

“You guys missed out,” Alex sighs as she plops herself into the seat, fanning her face with her hand. 

“Oh, no,” Corey says, “we saw you.” 

Alex lifts her arms up and waves them in the air for a bit, “Sick moves, right?” 

“I _do_ feel a little ill after watching that performance, yeah,” Corey quips and Alex kicks her in the shins. 

“I am _pooped_ ,” Mark says, dragging his forearm over his sweaty forehead. 

“Yeah, you look shit,” Tony remarks. 

“Where’s Ash?” Corey asks, and Tony watches as Alex rolls her eyes and points, and Mark nods in the same direction, eyebrows raised. Against his better judgement, Tony’s eyes follow.

Ash is seated on a table that’s been pushed against the wall along one of the edges of the dance floor, and the stranger’s hands have since then migrated from his arms to grip his waist as he stands between Ash’s legs. Ash’s hands are on his face, and he’s kissing Ash like he owns him. 

“Damn…” Corey says, dragging out the word, “Ash, getting it.” 

They watch on with strange curiosity (and a lot of reluctance on Tony’s part) as the two break apart, and the guy says something into Ash’s ear that makes him laugh as he slides off the table, pulling his jacket sleeve back on from where it had slipped off one shoulder. The man presses another kiss against his neck, and Ash playfully pushes against his shoulder before pulling away. He begins to move towards the table they’re sitting at, but the guy keeps a hold on Ash’s hand and tugs him back in with a cheeky smile. He places a hand on Ash’s cheek, and presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, before Ash leans into his ear, mouth moving, and the guy fucking honest to god _pouts_ , no doubt trying to convince Ash to stay on the dance floor and let him grope him for a little longer. 

After a series of head shakes from Ash, he finally releases him with an exaggerated resigned slump of his shoulders. Ash gives him his own last kiss, this time it’s slow, passionate, and lasts _way_ too long. The man looks dazed when they break apart, and he lifts a hand to wave as Ash heads back to the table, still wobbly on his feet. He falls over before he reaches the others and a roar of laughter courses through the table. 

“Shuddup,” Ash says as he slams his hand on their table, pushing himself back up and slotting himself against Tony’s side, “fucking…slippery floors.” And then he drops his head onto his arms on the table. 

“Fuckin’ boozehead,” Alex comments. 

“Someone’s ready to go home,” Corey sing-songs with a fond smile, poking Ash’s head with a finger. 

“Not us,” Mark says, “second wind!”

“Second wind!” Alex echoes as they fist bump each other. 

Corey throws Tony an apologetic look, and he knows what that means. Corey’s better equipped for dealing with both Alex and Mark because Tony would probably run out of patience and get too frustrated trying to corral them like errant sheep. Therefore, he was stuck with babysitting Ash until the latter sobered up enough to not drown himself in the bathroom sink. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says exasperated, elbowing Ash awake, “dude, wake up, you’re going home.” 

“What?!” Ash whines, “But I’m not—”

“Not even drunk, we know,” Tony finishes, “now get the fuck up.” 

Ash groans, but complies, and Tony has to leap up to support him before he collapses. 

“See you guys,” Tony says, supporting Ash by slinging Ash’s arm over his own shoulder when Ash threatens to crumple to the floor again. 

The others chorus a similar farewell, and then they’re off.

— 

The taxi ride back takes twice as long as it should. They have to stop a couple of times so that Ash can throw open the door and unleash torrents of his stomach contents, leaving small piles of multicoloured vomit on the pavement in various locations throughout the area like a really, really gross breadcrumb trail all the way back to the Davis’ place. 

Ash is pressed against his side, groaning whenever the taxi turns a corner a little too sharply. Tony has never been so acutely aware of someone else’s body heat before, heavy and warm against his side. He can feel every deep breath Ash takes to try and keep himself from being sick inside the taxi, the way his body rises and falls, uncomfortably, unevenly. The taxi brakes, and Ash whimpers when it causes him to rock forwards, so Tony wraps a stabilising arm around Ash’s shoulders so the movements of the vehicle don’t jostle him too much. 

He tells himself it’s so that Ash doesn’t feel compelled to unload the rest of his supper onto Tony’s pants. 

Eventually, Ash falls asleep against him to the hum of the engine, temple dropping onto Tony’s shoulder, and he doesn’t wake up for the remainder of the journey. The driver is kind. He doesn’t complain about the many stops, or the vomit streaking down the side of his taxi, instead he strikes up a conversation with Tony to fill the silence left by Ash, and Tony finds that he actually enjoys the small talk for once.

When the taxi slows to a stop outside Ash’s place, he thanks the driver and gives him an extra large tip for all the additional stops they’d had to make along the way. He somehow manages to muscle Ash out of the taxi and both of them stumble blindly in the dark until they reach the front door; a feat, considering Tony isn’t exactly sober himself. 

“I—I got this…” Ash mumbles, fishing around his pockets for his keys which, surprisingly, have not been dropped and lost forever under the feet of hundreds of drunken idiots. 

When Ash unlocks the door with a satisfying click, Tony follows him in, concerned about the unsteadiness of his gait. Ash seems to have sobered up a little bit on the way back, and with the expulsion of everything he’d had in the past few hours, Tony guesses he must be feeling a lot better. It didn’t mean he could walk properly though, seeing as the damage had already been done. Tony shadows him, occasionally steadying him with a hand on the shoulder when he threatens to stumble onto the edge of a coffee table or the corner of the kitchen counter. Ash throws the bathroom door open with abandon, and Tony winces on behalf of his kneecaps when he drops to his knees as soon as he sees the pristine white of the toilet.

The sound of retching immediately fills the bathroom, and the wet sounds of vomit splashing into the water bounce off the walls. Ash sighs, leaning against the toilet for the very brief moment of relief, spitting out the last remaining bits of saliva into the bowl. 

“Good job, buddy,” Tony mutters, patting his shoulder as Ash’s entire body tenses again, and the horrible sound of heaving and gagging resumes. 

It goes on like this for a few minutes, until Ash finally rotates around with a long groan and sags against the bathroom wall, wiping his mouth with a wad of toilet paper he’d dragged off the roll. He manages to get up on his own after catching his breath, and ambles over to the sink. Apparently Ash is quite able once he purges his system of the remaining content in his gut. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he manages to say as he stares at his wrecked image in the mirror. 

Tony leans against the door, arms folded across his chest, and watches Ash wash his face twice, brush his teeth thrice, and rinse his mouth with mouthwash four, five, six times, no doubt trying to rid himself of that sour aftertaste. His mind wanders, and unintentionally returns to Ash at The Junkyard. He tries not to let his thoughts head down that path, but the image of Ash kissing that random stranger is burned into his retinas. He manages to snap out of it only when Ash appears in front of him after being satisfied by his hygienic efforts, wanting to get out and go to bed.

Tony grabs a large pot from the kitchen, and lines it with a plastic bag. He takes it to Ash's room and places it next to Ash's bed like an offering.

“Why’re you still here?” Ash finally asks, speech still slurred as he shucks off his shoes and kicks them off, sending them flying to the other end of the room. 

“To catch you in case you fall over and brain yourself,” he replies, stepping back out of the room. 

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Ash teases, even in his drunken stupor, and Tony turns to face him again. 

“Not any more than you would,” Tony assures.

Ash hums, folding his arms and leaning his shoulder against the doorway for upright support, “I seriously doubt that,” he says finally, voice dropping low. 

“Hmm,” Tony leans in, “and why’s that?” 

“Because,” Ash breathes, not moving away, and Tony is pleased to note that all he smells is strong peppermint, “you seem to take pleasure in my misfortune and discomfort.” 

“And _I_ seriously doubt that,” Tony mimics, voice dropping to match Ash’s in volume. 

“Hmm,” Ash blinks slowly, licking his lips, “and why’s that?” 

Tony lets the alcohol take control his muscles, and just like a puppet on strings, he leans forward and presses his lips against Ash’s, hands coming up to cradle the base of his skull. He feels Ash soften, opening his mouth up to Tony, very briefly, before he tenses up again and he feels hands bracing against his shoulder. 

“What are you doing, Tony?” Ash mumbles as they pull apart. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony replies, moving in to kiss him again, but Ash dodges him with a turn of his head. 

“No,” Ash pushes him away and steps backwards into his room, somehow without landing on his backside, “I can’t—”

“Why? Why not?” Tony interrupts, uncomfortable with the way he sounds so desperate. 

“Because,” Ash says, clearly more sober now than he’d ever been tonight, “we’re both drunk out of our fucking minds.” 

“And?” 

“And, it’s just not—”

“Didn’t stop you when you were with that _other_ guy tonight,” Tony throws out, and Ash’s eyes snap onto his face, “did it?”

“That’s—that’s different—”

“How?” Tony argues, “How is _that_ any different from _this_? What about me is _different_?” 

Tony wants to flinch away from his own words. They don’t stop pouring out, and he feels like a man trapped inside the cage of a his own body, watching helplessly from the sidelines as it slowly chips away at their already delicate relationship.

“Are you saying you’d prefer this while we’re _sober_?” Tony asks, and he laughs bitterly, “because I highly, _highly_ doubt _that_.” 

Ash looks at him with an unbelieving expression before it’s quickly replaced with steel-cold resolve. 

“You need to leave,” Ash says quietly, finally, and Tony’s jaw clenches. Ash moves to shut his door, but right before it closes, Tony hears him as he mutters, “goodnight, Tony.” 

And then the door clicks shut. 

 

**134: “Was I really that drunk?” + 31: “I fucked up.”**

The pounding headache that greets him in the morning is an unwelcome guest. Forcing himself to roll out of bed and dragging himself to the kitchen uses up eighty percent of his energy quota for the day, and he groans in pain all the while doing it. His muscles ache, no doubt from his zumba workout on the dance floor, and his joints creak and complain with every step. He’s only in the kitchen for all of two seconds when Alex throws out a question that sucker punches him right in the gut. 

“Did something happen after Tony dropped you off home?” 

Alex is resting in a nest of throw pillows, and when she accidentally looks in the direction of the window and sunlight shines directly into her pupils, she swears and throws her hand up to shield her eyes. Her hair resembles tumbleweed, and her face is an unattractive smear of last night’s residual makeup. 

“What?” Ash responds, filling up a tall tumbler with water and glugging it down in one go with a couple of paracetamol tablets. 

He wasn’t about to tell his sister what happened the night before, because that would be stupid of him. She wouldn’t know subtlety if it walked up to her and bit her on the nose, so Ash opts to keep this piece of information private until he himself has figured out what to do with it, lest the entire city find out about the incident. But did she know what happened? Maybe—no, Tony wouldn’t tell anyone what transpired, would he? 

She holds up her phone.

“Corey messaged me just now because Mark messaged her this morning telling her that Tony messaged him at like, four in the morning with a simple text saying _‘I fucked up’_ , of course, with spelling mistakes,” Alex drops her hand back down, squinting at her screen when the sun reflects off it, blazing into her eyes, “just wondering if you had an idea since he took you home.” 

“I don’t know,” Ash lies, attempting to sound nonchalant as he rinses his glass in the sink, “probably got in a fight with a police officer and got arrested.” 

Alex snorts, “Probably, wouldn’t be surprised.” 

She sifts through her photos from last night and laughs. She’s watching a video of her attempting to film herself dancing with the selfie camera, except the footage is dark and shaky, and all she can hear in the video is a mixture of bass and her singing off-tune. 

“You were doing better than I was,” Ash adds, when he hears her cringe, groaning in disgust.

“Oh my god,” Alex says, showing him a photo of her taking a knee and funnelling a beer, “no way, that’s so lame, what am I? Twelve? How did they even get beer bong in there?” 

“Magic,” Ash replies, grabbing his keys, “ anyway, I’m gonna head out for a bit, I’ll see you later.” 

—

“What did he say? What has he told you?” Ash interrogates, even before Mark gets the chance to sit down on the chair across from him, “What’d _you_ say?” 

“Jesus christ,” Mark says, holding out both hands defensively as he pulls his seat out, “bombardment. Chill.” 

“S-sorry,” Ash stammers, leaning back and taking a long sip of water, “I’m still a bit hungover and…unwell.” 

“Not surprised,” Mark says, “I’m not feeling too flash myself, and I wasn’t even at half your level.” 

“Was I really that drunk?” Ash asks, sounding a little too hopeful for Mark to say no, he wasn’t _too_ drunk.

Instead, Mark offers him a smile and says, “Yeah,” he nods, “you were.” 

Ash buries himself in the menu so he doesn’t have to face Mark’s pitying look, even though he already knew what he was going to get before they sat down. After placing their orders, Ash tries again while they’re waiting for their food to arrive. 

“So…I heard Tony messaged you last night,” Ash begins tentatively, “what did he say?” 

“Well, he sorta didn’t reply to me after he sent me that message,” Mark shows him the conversation on his phone from last night, and sure enough, it was just Tony’s single message and Mark’s average ‘what happened?’ reply, “I assumed he just passed out.”

“Ah,” Ash says, and realises he’s just made a mistake inviting Mark out, because now Mark knows that this fuck up somehow concerns Ash, heavily enough for Ash to fret over it to this degree, “cool.” 

Mark takes his phone back and plays with the salt and pepper shakers.

“Did you guys have an argument or something?” 

“Something like that…you can’t tell anyone,” Ash warns. Mark shrugs, but Ash can spot the beginnings of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth, “seriously, Mark.” 

“Ash, I don’t know what happened, so I don’t have anything _to_ tell.”

Ash takes a deep breath. Technically he’s right, but Mark’s not an idiot and he probably has his suspicions now, if not having already inferred what had really happened judging by the knowing smirk on his face. Even so, Mark, ever so gracious, doesn’t say anything further. 

When their food finally arrives, beautifully presented on their plates, their conversation dwindles to complaints of their headaches and attempts to piece together the previous night using fragments of their memories. Mark relays the events of the night after Ash and Tony dipped: Corey had eventually been dragged onto the dance floor as well, and at one point Alex slipped and dropped her glass, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. Their night had ended when Corey placed Alex on her shoulders, and then shakily climbed onto Mark’s shoulders. Security was not pleased and when Alex had yelled at Mark to “floor it”, and Ash holds his stomach as it aches with laughter when Mark tells him about how their tower had quickly toppled and Alex almost broke her neck if not for the multitude of soft bodies below to fall on. Thankfully, nobody was grievously injured—only their pride and the vibe of the night once security had forcefully ushered them out the door. 

“Thanks for dealing with me,” Ash says sheepishly when they step outside, feeling the breeze and the gentle heat of the sun, “I feel like I’ve just dragged you out here for no reason—well, a selfish reason.” 

Mark drops a hand on his shoulder, patting it, “’s all good, man. Hope you guys sort it out, whatever it is.” 

 

**10: “We cant keep this up forever.” + 5: “Why do you hate me?”**

The next time Ash sees Tony, they’re on their way out to a place that Corey suggested after eavesdropping on a conversation while she was at work.

Corey is scouting the area while the rest of them hang back in the van. The atmosphere is tense, but not because they’re nervous about what they’re about to do—after all, it’s just a small gang, situated in a deserted but surprisingly well-lit area, that gets involved in petty gang wars and minor drug deals. No, they’re tense because Tony is standing beside Ash and the other two can see the way Tony’s Adam’s apple bobs every now and then whenever he moves slightly to look at Ash next to him, like he's itching to say something but catches himself before he can, every single time. Mark nudges Alex when Tony shifts his body so that he’s a mere centimetre closer to Ash, but nothing happens after that. They watch on with an intense curiosity. Ash's eyes flicker over to the two of them, and they quickly avert their eyes. They fiddle with their weapons.

Ash clear his throat, breaking the silence and everyone snaps to attention, “Uh, Corey’s taking a while, don’t you guys reckon?” 

“It's only been two minutes,” Alex points out, “we’ll give her a little more time in case we blow it.” 

“Oh,” Ash says quietly, “right.” 

Silence befalls them once again, and Ash idly checks his gun, polishing the metal on his pants. Alex rubs her nose under her mask. Mark taps on the upholstery, a beat to the song stuck in his head. 

Then it’s Tony’s turn to break the silence. His voice is hushed, but it grabs everyone’s attention, even if the other two try to play it cool and act like they can’t hear, “Ash, listen, um—”

“Oh! There she is,” Ash calls out suddenly, and they see Corey sneaking back to the front of the house, signalling them to join her. Ash then looks at Tony for just a brief moment before he jumps out of the van. 

—

A heavy blow lands on Ash and his head whips to the side from the force, a sharp pain tearing through his neck as it twists, and a stinging sensation razes across the side of his face. He feels blood run from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek. The flesh stings and the taste of iron fills his mouth, and he aims his gun and fires in the general direction of the man wielding the chain that had whacked him in the face. When the man falters, Ash tackles him and straddles the body beneath him. The man reaches up, and Ash stabs through the palm with the trench knife he’s got secure in his fist.

When he looks up Tony is stomping on the head of a prone man, before he knocks another one to his knees.

“Ash, about…what happened,” Tony addresses him, like they’re having brunch on Sunday afternoon and he didn’t just grab a man’s head and knee him square in the face, “I just really wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

Ash digs the trench knife into the soft abdomen below him, “You don’t think you can save this conversation for later?” 

Tony cracks someones neck at an obtuse angle and drops the body to the ground, “We can’t keep this up forever, if I don’t do this now I might not have the courage to do it ever.” 

“Fine,” Ash says, digging out the man’s innards, “but make it quick.”

“Alright, well, I’m sorry for kissing you that night,” Tony calls out as he dodges a fist and swiftly breaks the man’s elbow. 

The loud apology catches the attention of the other three.

Ash wipes the blood from his hands onto the carpet and picks up the shotgun lying abandoned next to a couch that is now more holes than couch. Cocking it, he sends fragments of skull spraying over one of the potted plants in the room. A couple of metres away, Tony kicks someone in the face, breaking their nose bridge, and sending a waterfall of blood out both nostrils.

“I just—I got caught up in the moment, and I wasn’t thinking,” Tony explains himself. 

“No,” Ash says, shooting another man in the face when he stupidly charges at Ash while wielding only a lead pipe, “you weren’t.”

Tony is pulverising one of the larger enemies, sitting atop his body and pummelling into his face with nothing but his fists. 

The room is finally settling down as the number of corpses begins to outnumber the amount of assailants. After the last of them are dispatched, Tony stands up and his knuckles are bloodied and skinned. Ash throws the empty shotgun on the ground, and watches Tony like a feral cat ready to sprint away as Tony slowly approaches him.

“I just want to know why,” Tony says, tone almost pleading, “what is it about me? Why do you hate me?” 

Ash glances over at the others. They’re standing a considerable distance away to provide them with the privacy they need. 

“Look, Tony, I’m just…tired of this—this _game_ ,” Ash finally answers, clearing his throat and keeping his voice quiet, “I know you’re only doing this because it’s funny, but…it’s not funny to me, you have to realise that. I don’t enjoy feeling like—like some sort of punchline.” 

Tony exhales shakily, turning into a disbelieving laugh, “I didn’t—” Tony rubs his forehead, “I didn’t realise that was how you…I don’t see you as a _punchline_. I thought it was obvious.”

“Obvious?” 

“The teasing, the…the pigtail pulling—metaphorically speaking,” Tony tries to explain, “I’m doing this because…because I—”

_BANG!_

“Tony!” Ash screams as soon as the shot rings out immediately followed by two more. Tony swears loud and pained as he falls to one knee. Ash drops to his level, hands already on Tony to try and find the wounds where the man had shot Tony. 

The other three are there in the blink of an eye, Mark already grabbing Tony as they find the bullet holes in his leg. The man is lying on the ground behind Tony and on the brink of death, pointing his now-empty gun at the rest of them.

“Son of a bitch,” Alex mutters as she swings down onto the man’s head with a discarded baseball bat. Corey joins in and beats the man with a crowbar, the solid piece of metal slamming into his face repeatedly, alternating with Corey’s bat until the man stops twitching and convulsing in pain. 

“Oh that is _sore_ ,” Tony groans, “How bad is it?” 

“The bleeding won’t stop,” Mark says, trying his best to keep his voice low and steady, “he needs help, there are three decent wounds, and all of them are losing a considerable amount of blood, quickly.” 

“Fuck!” Tony hisses, “Goddamn, did he shoot through my fucking femur? My artery?” 

“Just stop talking,” Ash says desperately, his tone lacking the bite his words intended, and Tony scrunches his eyes closed, cursing as Mark hauls him up. 

“We need to finish this talk, Ash,” Tony says through gritted teeth as he leans his body against Mark, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 

“Fucking hell, Tony, that conversation isn’t going anywhere,” Ash says urgently, holding Tony’s head between his hands in an attempt to keep him awake, “stop thinking about it, right now we need to get you outta here.” 

Tony wants to close his eyes. All he can feel is the way his leg is screeching at him as they get him into the van, an inconceivable pain razing the entire limb like barbed wire running through his veins. Next thing he knows he's in the van, with his leg stretched out along the seats. He can feel the warmth of his blood soaking into the upholstery beneath him. 

“Stay with me,” he hears Ash ask of him. Tony sighs as cool hands touch his clammy face while the world’s volume begins to dwindle, getting quieter, and quieter, “Just stay with me, please. Tony, Tony, hey,” Ash seems to be getting further away, “Guys, guys he’s not responding.” 

 

**103: “Well that’s pretty rude of you to say.” + 142: “It’s just your imagination.”**

“How much longer do you think it’ll be?” he hears a voice ask. 

“Dunno, didn’t really listen to what he was saying.” 

It sounds like he’s underwater with water all around him, muffling every bit of noise trying to reach him. Feels like it too, head stuffy, mind blurry. Except he can breathe. He smells alcohol and something akin to ammonia. A glaring light tries to force itself past the thin skins of his eyelids, so he scrunches his eyelids tighter, groaning in protest.

“Tony?” 

“Is he awake?” 

“I think so?” 

He blinks awake and sees the faces of his friends crowding him, Mark, Corey, and Alex, staring at his face and suddenly he feels like an exhibit in a zoo. 

“The fuck?” Tony manages to croak as he blinks his eyes open, flinching at how obnoxiously dazzling the lights are in the room. He licks his cracked lips, feeling the skin split open when he opens his mouth. Even the inside of his mouth feels like it’s housing an arid desert, and he hacks out a dry cough as if there’s grains of sand catching at the back of his throat. 

Alex wordlessly hands him the cup of water sitting beside him. Nodding in thanks, he throws it back and feels how the cool water flows over his tongue, refreshing in the way it splashes against the inside of his cheeks and rushes down his throat like silk. He drinks it in large gulps, breathing hard through his nose as his body forces the water in, soaking it up like a desiccated sponge. 

“Oh, fuck,” Tony breathes out, dropping the glass onto his bed and Mark catches it before he crashes onto the floor, “I think drinking that glass of water trumps every sexual experience I’ve ever had up until this point.” 

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Corey says through a small huff of breath, the beginning of a chuckle. 

“Good to see your near death experience hasn’t changed you at all,” Mark says, placing the glass back on the table. 

“Why would it?” Tony says stubbornly, “Wait, near death?” 

“You’d lost quite a lot of blood from the three bullet wounds,” Alex explains, picking at her fingernails, “when we brought you in they’d immediately taken you in. We were waiting outside when the doctor came and told us that they’d given you fluids to try and stabilise you before they could even think about trying to take a look at those wounds.”

“Shit,” Tony mutters, “how was it?” 

“Three bullets, all accounted for,” Alex answers with a smile. She lifts up a small plastic bag, dropping it into Tony’s lap. Inside it, the three bullets that had been lodged inside Tony’s leg. 

“And they’re letting me keep them?” 

“I guess,” Alex shrugs, “maybe they thought you wanted it for evidence or…I don’t know. Sentimental reasons?” 

Tony rolls one of them between his fingers, still sitting inside the plastic, staring at the three little pieces of metal that had almost taken his life. He remembers the moment it had happened.

He looks up at the others.

“Where’s Ash?” Tony asks, looking around to catch a glimpse of blond hair somewhere, maybe sitting in the corner trying to act aloof.

“Oh, he’s um, having a nap outside,” Corey points a thumb over her shoulder, “do you…want us to bring him in?” 

Tony shrugs, attempting to mask the eagerness to see Ash under a façade of of nonchalance, but Alex gets the message and exits the room. 

“Napping?” Tony asks.

“He’s…he’s pretty tuckered out,” Mark answers. 

“Him? Tuckered out?” Tony huffs out incredulously, dangling his bag of bullets in the air. 

“He’s tired because he stayed here almost the entire time waiting for you,” Mark informs him, “when the doctor said you would take a while to wake up, we were all going to go home and visit you later, but Ash decided to say. He said that, in case you woke up, it’d be good for you to see a familiar face. When we came back later and he was…” Mark trails off. 

“He was what?” Tony prods. 

Mark speaks softly, as if worried that someone was going to catch him doing something he shouldn’t, “He’s going to kill me for even telling you this, let alone show you.” 

Mark takes out his phone and turns the screen towards Tony. 

Tony’s heart feels too big for his chest. 

It’s a photo of Ash, perched on the stool beside Tony’s hospital bed. His head is resting against the back of his fingers, with his elbow digging into his own thigh. Tony glances briefly at the spot where Ash had been. 

“I don’t think he hates you as much as you think he does,” Corey says softly as Mark locks his phone and drops it back into his pocket, “or as much as he _wants_ you to think he does.” 

Just as she finishes speaking, the door opens and Alex comes in with a sleepy Ash in tow, a bottle of gatorade dangling from his hand. At a flick of Corey’s head, the others stand up and silently walk out of the room, leaving Ash to watch their backs with helpless eyes, clearly not expecting to be left alone. 

The room is awfully quiet without the presence of the others, and Ash is still not making eye-contact, just staring at the now-closed door as he stands awkwardly next to the bed. He doesn’t say a word.

“Not gonna sit down?” Tony asks, trying to keep the tone light. 

Ash turns back to Tony, and then the chair, before he lowers himself gingerly onto the seat, like he’s afraid Tony will suddenly lunge forward and maul him to death. Tony can _see_ the tension stretched taut over the lines of Ash’s muscles and in the smooth edges of his skin. Tony’s finger drums a soft beat against the linen of his sheets as he waits for Ash to initiate the conversation. 

“Have you seen yourself yet?” Ash asks, and at the shake of Tony’s head, he continues, “You look fucking awful.” 

“Well that’s pretty rude of you to say,” Tony says, “I was shot. Three times,” he says defensively, waving his little baggy of bullets in Ash’s face. 

“Yeah, I know,” Ash says, “I was there.” 

Tony huffs out a short laugh, and there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quirk at the corner of Ash’s lips. Tony can’t help the small smile that graces his face as well. Then they stay quiet for a bit. It begins as a stiff silence, with the stagnant air sitting thick between them, where they’re wondering what to say next, wondering if they should continue where they left off or wait until Tony was out of the hospital to properly have this talk. They wallow in the hush until it transitions slowly into something softer, more comfortable. Ash runs his finger along the railing along the edges of Tony’s bed, and Tony follows the movement with his eyes, watches long fingers slide over the shiny plastic, gliding back and forth, back and forth, idly as the fingers of his other hand tap gently against his bottom lip like a lullaby. 

He must have drifted off for a bit because the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to a slight dip of the blanket near his fingers where they rest. He only opens his eyes slightly, still exhausted, and Ash doesn’t notice. Tony looks down and he sees him, hand under his cheek as he lays his head on that plastic railing, dark and pretty eyelashes fluttering as he dances his fingers closer to Tony’s, but never touching. He skirts around the edges of Tony’s hand with a delicate finger, like he’s drawing an invisible barrier, a line that he can’t, or refuses to, cross. 

He pauses a mere millimetre from Tony’s hand. 

And then there’s a gentle touch. Tentative at first, like a wild bird approaching a sleeping dog, before he draws away quickly. When Tony doesn’t respond, he repeats the same action, his index finger skimming along the top of Tony’s pinky finger. 

He wants to spend the next 10 minutes— _hours_ —experiencing…whatever this is; this moment where Ash is letting his emotions bleed through into the quietness of his actions. He’s so used to seeing Ash lock away everything that could be seen as soft behind his mask of razor-sharp sarcasm and deadly wit, that Tony finds himself fascinated with this entirely new creature. When he finally pulls away, it leaves him colder than before, and then he comes back, playfully prodding the tip of Tony’s middle finger, lifting it up, and wiggling it up and down.

Despite how much Tony wants this to last, the urge to move becomes too much, and he wants to turn his hand and grab Ash’s in his. He feels the almost unnoticeable twitch in his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, his hand is retracted so quick that Tony wonders if he’d just been dreaming up the entire thing. Ash’s mask is back on, cool, and emotions curated. Until he sees Ash, refusing to meet his eyes, looking sheepish as if he were a child caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar. 

Tony grins.

The panic that Ash so outrightly displays brings Tony so much amusement, “It’s just your imagination,” Ash snaps, even though Tony hadn’t said anything, but the warm pink that washes over his face betrays him. 

“Perhaps,” Tony says. He watches as Ash reverts to just sitting next to him, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheeks, like words threatening to burst forth. 

Ash scrapes his foot on the ground, drawing invisible patterns into the shiny linoleum floors with the toe of his boot. 

“So,” Tony begins, “I—we still have to talk. About what happened.” 

Ash really flushes such a pretty shade of pink, “Can we maybe have this talk when you’re not doped out on opioids?” 

“Stop trying to dodge this conversation,” Tony says, “or me.” 

“I’m not,” Ash defends weakly. 

“You are.” 

“I’m not.”

“You are.” 

Ash sighs and rolls his eyes, “Even when you’re compromised, you’re fucking infuriating.” 

“And even when you’re a stubborn little asshole,” Tony’s eyes soften, “you’re fucking gorgeous.” 

And Ash clearly doesn’t know how to respond to that, especially when Tony grins in his direction. So he doesn’t. A myriad of words destined to be left unsaid run across Ash’s expression. 

“Ash—”

“The others are probably waiting for me,” Ash cuts him off, standing up and taking his drink bottle with him. Tony can see the dark circles shadowing under his eyes. Tony expects Ash to just make his smooth exit without another word, so it’s a surprise when he stops just as his hands touch the doorknob.

“Get some rest,” Ash says without turning around, almost more out of obligation than genuine concern, and then he’s out the door. 

When the door clicks shut, Tony sighs and sinks into the pillow.

 

**138: “Are you cold?” + 1: “Give me a chance.”**

“How’s the leg?” Corey asks, plopping down on his side of the bed. It’s good to finally be back in his own flat, sleeping in a bed that’s half-occupied by clothes that need to be thrown in the laundry, surrounded by his own chaotic mess that only he knows how to navigate. 

“It’s working,” Tony says, “I don’t feel like a geriatric old fart anymore.” 

“That’s a start,” she says as she hands him a paper bag with a salmon and cream cheese bagel nestled inside, “breakfast.” 

He takes the bag out of her hands with a small thank you and digs in immediately, and her face scrunches with disgust as bagel crumbs shower onto his blankets. 

“Please tell me you’re ambulatory enough to do your own washing.” 

“You would make little ol’ me do my own chores?” Tony asks, feigning disbelief, “Such a cruel, cruel woman.” 

“I brought you a bagel,” she argues, “I think I’ve done my share of friendship-ly duties.” 

— 

Recovering is a boring, boring ordeal. The others do visit, just to make sure he’s okay and keeping himself fed and hydrated, but otherwise, he spends half his days making sure he doesn’t over-exert himself lest he collapse and stunt the healing of his limb, and the other half hobbling around the flat, trying to be productive. He begins to start clearing out the clutter around his place, placing things back where they belong and throwing out all the litter he has spread out on the floor. 

He learns how to properly whistle with fingers in his mouth. 

He forgets how to do it three days later. 

—

When Tony can finally drink again, it’s at the dingy bar that they frequent, with walls and drinks that don’t glow or sparkle, seats that are worn down, and tables that are dented from decades of use. Mark insists that they all make a promise to each other that they won’t drink too much this time, Ash won’t keep falling over and having near misses with the table edges, and the other’s won’t attempt to recreate a human totem pole and risk a broken neck. 

“Aww,” Alex whines when Mark sets down the ground rules, “why not?” 

“Because we’re here to celebrate Tony’s full recovery after being out of hospital and I’d rather not have to bring anybody back there tonight.” 

“ _God_ Tony,” Ash mutters playfully, “way to ruin the night.”

They all laugh, but at Mark’s insistence, begrudgingly agree to take it slow. It doesn’t mean that alcohol loses it’s dulling effect on the senses and inhibitions, just that they all retain some semblance of their ability to think and speak _coherently_ , walk in a relatively straight line, and make decisions that they won’t regret in the next twenty-four hours.

“—so yeah, I almost punted that little old lady across the room. Wrinkly old bitch.” 

“Yeah, old people are the fucking _worst_ ,” Alex yells, agreeing with Corey, “uh, sometimes,” she adds when several older gentlemen side-eye their table. 

“Like you have the really nice old ladies, the grandmotherly types that call everyone ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ and bake you cookies and insist you call them “nana” even though you’ve just met, then you have the ones where you can really just _feel_ how good it will be when you grab those turkey-necks of theirs and just—” Corey mimics the motion of snapping a twig in her hands.

“It’s definitely tempting, for sure,” Alex says, “it’s like, you have like six months to live, tops. Why be an asshole? In a bit of a rush to get to that finish line are you?”

“I’m going to get a drink,” Ash says, because he’d rather not be associated with grandma-killing psychopaths and would rather get another drink to sip on slowly instead. 

Leaning against the counter, perched on a barstool, he waits for the bartender. It’s a busy night. 

There are other loyal customers packed into the bar, all seats occupied and bartenders running back and forth along the counter to serve them. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about that kiss since it happened, when Tony had pulled him in and he’d pushed Tony away, watching with regret as guilt crept onto Tony’s face at the realisation of what he’d done. Tony's incessant flirting must be having an unwanted effect on him because shutting the door on Tony felt like pushing two matching poles of a magnet together, when all he’d wanted to do was curl his fingers into the front of Tony’s shirt and drag him back in. He wanted to feel how Tony would feel against his fingers as they stumbled into Ash’s room, tripping over each other to fall onto the mattress. He wanted Tony to hover over him and kiss him breathless. He remembered the way a single kiss made his veins run hot, blood burning like molten rock beneath his skin, and he wanted to experience it over, and over again. 

Instead, he’d closed the door. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, finally reaching him. 

Ash opens his mouth, the order just on the tip of his tongue…and then he shakes his head, pulling himself off the chair, “Actually, I think I’m good for now, sorry.” 

And he stands up and walks out the door. He needs some fresh air. This alcohol is clearly hitting him harder and faster than he’d expected. After spending a couple of hours soaking in the warmth of the bar, suddenly coming face-to-face with the night air is almost painful. A man walks past, smoke billowing past the cigarette balanced between his lips, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He looks at Ash and Ash looks back. 

“Hey,” Ash says, signalling to the cigarette in his mouth, “how many you got?” 

He doesn’t often smoke, but he needs something to do so he’s not just standing outside a bar in the freezing cold. At least with this he has an excuse for loitering. 

The man doesn’t say a word, but he pulls one of his hands from his pockets, and holds up box of cigarettes with only three left. Ash takes it and plucks one out, and places it in his mouth. When Ash hands the box back, the man shakes his head, and Ash only falters for a second before he accepts the offer, tucking the box away in his own jacket pocket. Wordlessly, the man takes out a lighter from the same pocket and hands it to Ash. Ash lights his cigarette, sucking it in deep to keep the embers alive, and returns the lighter. This time the man takes it.

“Enjoy your night,” the man speaks for the first time. His voice is gravelly, like he’d been sucking in nothing but smoke for the past few hours. 

“Yeah,” Ash replies, flicking the end of his cigarette so the ash drops off, “you too.” 

And then he’s gone. 

He pushed Tony away that night because he was drunk. The feeling of want was there, but Ash wasn’t sure if maybe alcohol had a part to play, and the last thing he wanted to do was fuck things up because he was shit-faced and acting on impulses. He couldn't deny the physical attraction. He wasn't blind. But beyond that, Ash wasn't exactly sure how he really felt.

 _“Are you saying you’d prefer this while we’re sober?”_ Ash recalls Tony asking, and then he’d dismissed it before Ash could answer, _“because I highly, highly doubt that.”_

Ash sighs, flicking the cigarette and watching as grey flecks float to the ground. He probably would’ve said yes. 

He shakes his head, no, he _would’ve_ said yes. 

Ash wasn't blind, but he was an idiot. Falling for Tony, Ash scoffs at himself, what a fucking joke. He must seriously be a masochist. Of all the people, it had to be the one that pestered him empty words of seduction, the one that wasn't emotionally available. It was all Tony's fault, he decides. If it wasn't for the endless teasing, Ash probably would have never even considered it.

He doesn’t know how long he spends there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been even five minutes before he notices he’s already burnt away two-thirds of his last cigarette. The other two cigarette butts are lying at his feet, and he toes at them, leaving a dirty black smudge on the concrete. He hears the door open.

“Before you ask,” Ash says, “no, I usually don’t smoke.”

“Picking up your sister’s bad habits?” Tony asks, sauntering his way over to stand next to Ash. He keeps a respectable distance away as he falls back to settle against the brick wall. He’s collected, relaxed; everything that Ash is not. 

“It’s only when I need to…” he waves his hand lazily in the air, “I don’t know, have something to do while I think about things, away from the rest of you idiots.”

Tony smirks, amusement evident on his features at the insult, “And what’s got those cogs turning in that pretty little head of yours?” 

“Petrol prices,” Ash says without missing a beat, “the bee population, climate change.” 

“Fucking hippie,” Tony says, crossing his legs over at the ankles. He glances over at Ash, who is only wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and a pair of jeans, “Are you cold?” 

“If I say yes, are you going to give me that jacket of yours?” Ash says, eyeing the thick jacket wrapped around Tony’s solid frame. It probably wouldn’t fit him height-wise, but Tony’s so much wider than him that he’s sure it’ll work somehow. 

“That depends on whether you want it or not.”

Ash doesn’t answer and the conversation slows down after that. Tony wishes he had something to do instead of blowing air out from his mouth, the low temperatures allowing his breath to mimic the smoke pouring out of Ash’s. He watches as Ash finally reaches the end of his cigarette and stubs it out against the wall of the bar, before lobbing it as hard as he can. He follows the trajectory of the tiny thing until he can’t see it anymore. 

“We never got to talk about what happened,” Tony says, still looking over to where the cigarette had travelled through the air.

“To be honest,” Ash says, “I don’t really think we need to.” 

Tony’s heart drops like a lump of lead. This is what he’d expected. Ash is going avoid talking about what happened, and then he’s going to continue avoiding Tony until everything is forgotten, and Tony would have to forever keep his distance, while Ash forever kept his—he’d be just out of his reach, all the time, always.

He hears a small exhale and the sounds of shoes scraping against the ground. 

“I don’t hate you,” Ash says quietly.

It catches Tony off guard, “What?” 

“That time, when you asked me why I hated you,” Ash explains. Tony then remembers, it was before he got shot, “I don’t.” 

Tony makes a sound of disbelief, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

“It’s because you make it so difficult,” Ash says, exasperated, “you make it so fucking difficult to _not_ want to hate you. You’re bloody irritating, and cocky, and just—so fucking _annoying_. You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, and you never take anything seriously, ever. The way you tease me and do all that pesky, irritating shit, even though you never intend for it to go anywhere. I know what you’re like, with all those girls you take to bed. It’s like everything is a game to you. It’s—it’s so frustrating just watching you do _anything_.”

“Jesus,” Tony says, pretending to physically reel back from the barrage of Ash’s words, “I’m really struggling to believe you don’t want to slit my throat right now.”

“I—I don’t…” Ash starts, and then he pauses, like he hadn’t prepared his speech beyond what he’d already said. 

“I mean, you seem to really _want_ to,” Tony says.

“Sometimes I _wish_ I hated you,” Ash mutters, “would make my life easier.”

“So why don’t you?” 

Ash bites the inside of his cheeks, “I don’t know,” he says finally, and he drops his gaze. 

A small shiver creeps up Ash’s body and Tony can see the goosebumps dotting the flesh of Ash’s pale arms. He doesn’t know what the reception to his actions will be like, but Tony sheds off his jacket and throws it haphazardly over Ash’s shoulders anyway. It’s not easy when Ash is a bit taller than him, but it settles over Ash just enough that the other can grab at the edges and wrap it around himself. He accepts it without question.

“I don’t know,” Ash repeats, but it sounds like he’s speaking to himself, “I don’t know why I don’t hate you.”

Tony steps forward to stand in front of Ash. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants so he doesn’t give in to the urge to touch Ash, to cup his face in his palms and run his thumb along his cheekbones. 

“Ash,” he addresses him, but Ash doesn’t look up, the only indication he’d heard Tony being a small sigh that escapes, “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to be different.” 

Ash scoffs, but he still pulls the jacket to fit tighter around him. 

“Look, I don’t think of you as some kind of…replaceable or disposable thing,” Tony starts before Ash can do anything else, “I made you feel like you weren’t worth any more than just a joke, or a night or two and I hate that I’ve done that. If I could explain how I feel about you—about all of this, I would. But I just…I can’t. All I know is that somehow, along the way…with all the teasing and the playful flirting, I found that I legitimately, genuinely like you. And then I didn’t know what to do with my feelings so I just continued bothering you and hoped that you’d get what I was trying to say. 

“That night, when I kissed you, I did it because seeing you with that guy…I was mad. Mad at him, yeah, but mostly at myself. I knew that during the time we’d known each other, I’d chipped away at our friendship in such a way, with all my shitty behaviour, that you could never see me as someone other than that annoying guy that you just have to tolerate. And suddenly I was jealous, because some guy you’d never met before was able to have you in a way I could never. To be perfectly honest, when I kissed you I don’t know what I expected. All I could think about was ‘If he can kiss you, why can’t I?’, ‘what does he have that I don’t?’. It was ridiculous, and entitled, and I sure as hell know that I don't deserve to feel that way. You know, after I left, I went home and lay in bed awake for what felt like hours—I mean, it probably _was_ hours before I fell asleep. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much I fucked everything up, and how you were going to hate me even more. The thought of it was…it was unbearable. I didn’t know how I was going to face you. 

“But then the next time I saw you, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t ignore me, or tell me I was a fucking idiot, or do any of those things. You carried on like normal. 

“I know I’m far from your ideal person. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be good for you. But know that I think you’re worth every effort, and more. If at the end of all of this you say no, then that’s it, I’ll leave you alone and we can wipe the slate clean and forget any of this happened. We’ll go back to how we were before I decided to really fuck things up between us. No grudges, no bad blood. Nothing. But if you say yes, Ash, I’ll try. I’ll try to be someone good for you. 

“So, Ash, please, will you give me a chance?” 

 

**69: “You’re teasing me again…” + 48: “I’ve liked you for a while now.”**

His world grinds to a halt.

The words that had tumbled out of Tony’s mouth, too fast for Ash to properly digest, had been heavy with emotion, falling at Ash’s feet. Tony, whom he once witnessed pissing on a corpse once he’d finished pulverising it into an unrecognisable mush of flesh and blood, had poured his emotions out, raw and unadulterated. He was standing in front of Ash, most likely expecting some sort of response, but Ash was frozen in his place, trying to kickstart his brain into processing the words he’d just heard. His eyes, two warm fires, watching him and waiting with a gentleness he’d never seen in them before. 

“Well?” the deep voice rumbles through Ash’s entire body like rolling thunder. 

Ash clears his throat before speaking, “Are you...you’re teasing me again…” 

Tony lets out a pained groan, hand covering his face before he drags it down, “Holy _fuck_ , Ash, did you—did you even listen to anything I just said?” 

“I don’t—look, I just find it hard to believe that you, of all people would…would have the capacity to feel like that,” Ash counters, “let alone feel like that about _me_.”

Because it’s true. In Ash’s universe, Tony and heartfelt words didn’t mix. Tony and genuine emotions beyond bloodlust and rage didn’t mix. Tony and love didn’t mix. 

Tony and Ash didn’t mix. 

“You are… _so_ fucking ridiculous,” Tony half laughs and half huffs. 

“Can you fucking blame me though?” Ash asks under his breath, and despite his apparent attempts at not giving in to Tony’s disgusting charms that he refuses to acknowledge, he pulls Tony’s jacket tighter around his arms. 

Tony chuckles then, watching as Ash bundles up, “I guess not. So, what’s your answer?” 

Ash shrugs with one shoulder, “Fine,” he mumbles under his breath, because he knows his voice will shake if he speaks any louder and fuck giving Tony a glimpse of vulnerability as opposed to stubborn acceptance. 

“What was that?” Tony asks, clearly amused by this whole situation, and way too pleased with himself, if the roguish grin on his face is anything to go by. 

Ash knows he’s going to have to blame the redness on his cheeks on windburn. 

“I said _fine_ ,” Ash spits out, “I’ll—I’ll give you a chance, if that’s what you really want. But don’t think I’m suddenly going to do a one-eighty and suddenly be all…you know, lovey-dovey and shit because that’s not happening.” 

Tony’s grin melts away into something more genuine, his eyes gentling into something that holds Ash’s heart like a baby bird, so delicate that he can feel it in the way his breathing hitches, “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.” 

And it’s that unfeigned acceptance from Tony that has Ash cautiously stepping forward. Before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea, he leans forward and shivers at the warmth of Tony’s breath ghosting against his skin. Against the bitter cold of the night air, it feels like embers landing on his lips, from a crackling fire burning close. He feels Tony’s hand fall feather-soft against his hip, a touch so gentle that Ash wouldn’t have noticed it if not for his hyperawareness of everything _Tony_ at this very moment. His focus is solely on him, the way he just radiates heat, like his ribcage houses a burning inferno, and the way he smells like leather and firewood and maybe a little bit like blood. Ash has never been so taken by a scent in his life. He can almost feel Tony’s lips against his…

“Ash!” a voice calls out, and the door to the bar swings open with ferocious slam as it bangs against the wall, “leaving soon!” 

The sudden intrusion makes Ash leap back, knocking his head against the brick wall. 

“There you guys are!” Alex yells as she approaches them, and then her eyebrows crunch together, “am I interrupting something?” 

“No,” Ash says just as Tony is snapping at Alex with a curt, “Yes.”

The two spare a quick glance at each other, and Alex’s eyes flicker between the two standing mere inches apart. She shakes her head quickly, lifting her hands, bringing an end to anything either of them were going to say before they even had the chance. 

“I don’t wanna know,” she says, “anyway, we’re leaving now, Corey just bottled some guy who slapped her on the butt and called her ‘princess’ so we’re getting kicked out.” 

As if on cue, Corey makes an appearance in a flurry of swear words, with Mark’s hands on her shoulders guiding her out as she flails around, drunk and disorderly. She’s still yelling back into the bar even as the door is closing, swinging an empty bottle of what appears to be whiskey at the other patrons inside and someone that Ash assumes is the manager. God knows how she got her hands on a whole _bottle_ of that because they sure as hell don’t sell that to customers. 

“Fucking piece of shit!” she seethes, “You’re lucky all you got was a fucking concussion because I wouldn’t hesitate to gut you, you fucking—”

“I think that is quite enough, Corey. The knock you gave him probably sent the message,” Mark says in a soft voice in an attempt to quell her rage, “you wanna hand me the bottle?” 

“No, no I do _not_ want to hand you the bottle, I want to bury it into that douchebag’s _skull_.” 

When Tony finishes laughing at the performance, he turns around to see Ash holding his jacket out to him. He tentatively takes it back, wishing that Ash would keep hold of it for longer. He can feel Ash’s body heat still soaked into the thick fabric. 

“Thanks,” Ash says simply, and then he points at the jacket in Tony’s hand as if Tony wouldn’t have understood why he was thanking him, “for that.”

“’s all good.” 

“Sorry,” Ash then apologises. 

Tony looks at him as he shrugs his jacket back on, relishing in the warmth that wraps around him that he knows is _Ash’s_ warmth, “For what?”

“For the interruption,” Ash explains, a beat, “I don’t know if…I don’t know how the others will react to this—”

“You wanna keep it on the down low,” Tony cuts to the chase. 

“I—yeah,” Ash says in a tone that speaks almost like guilt, “it’s not like I’m ashamed, of you, or this,” he states, gesturing at the space between them.

“I know,” Tony assures him, and he wants to hold Ash’s hand and squeeze his fingers so that Ash can _feel_ that Tony actually means it. He reels it in before he does, though, because the others will surely notice despite being pre-occupied with a berserk Corey, and he’s not sure what their boundaries are at the moment.

“Anyway, I’m sorry, the um…the…” Ash casts his eyes warily at the rest of them and drops his voice even lower, the smooth velvet of his voice reaching Tony _just_ barely, “the kiss—well it wasn’t even a um—fuck, whatever it was, I—I hope we can um…I’m sorry it was interrupted but maybe if…not now…”

“Ash,” Tony says slowly so he can watch the way those beautiful green eyes drag up to meet his. The fact that Ash is floundering and apologising endears Ash to Tony, even more so than he’d thought possible, “I’ve liked you for a while now, and I’ve waited this long. I think I can wait a little bit longer.” 

 

**129: “Don’t fuck this up.” + 143: “Just how stupid do you think I am?”**

It takes a while for Ash to warm up to the idea that he doesn’t have to flinch every time Tony’s hand brushes against his when they’re sitting side-by-side in the van. Even when nobody’s looking, a light touch against the back of his hand, and Ash will jump like a cat from a spray bottle before he apologises and nervously reaches out to curl his index finger around Tony’s. Tony finds it strangely sweet, despite the fact that he wishes he could boldly take Ash’s hand—or even better, wishes that _Ash_ would have the courage to boldly take his hand instead. It's seems like it's even harder now to interact with Ash than ever before.

Because of this, Tony is very delicate in the way he interacts with Ash, keeps vigil, only holding hands when he’s sure they won’t be noticed. They hadn’t even worked their way up to a kiss yet. Even the words he uses are carefully chosen in case he slips up and reveals information about this clandestine relationship, filtered so that nobody can tell that beneath the jibes and the endless shit-talking is someone who is so stupidly in love. 

Which is why when it happens it takes him by surprise. The shovel talk has come earlier than expected because, well, he hadn’t really expected it at all, considering the amount of effort and care he’d put into making sure he was as subtle as possible.

“How’d you even find out?” Tony asks in the middle of Alex’s threat of castration. 

Alex purses her lips and fixes Tony with a flat gaze, hands landing on her cocked hips, “Just how stupid do you think I am?” 

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Tony amends, “but we were being so sneaky about it. We even put a time limit on how long we could be within a one metre radius of each other. In fact, I don’t think we’ve never been so _apart_.”

“Well,” Alex taps her temple, “I’m pretty observant. I noticed when Ash stopped bitching about you constantly—”

“He did that?”

“—and I also noticed that he goes a little red when you’re next to him sometimes—”

“What did he say?”

“—I mean, also the fact that I saw you guys holding hands on the drive back from that warehouse we shot up two—or was it three?—days ago.”

Tony shuts his mouth, and then opens it again, “Please don’t let Ash know that you know. He’s a little…”

“I know,” Alex says, and then she pats Tony on the shoulder, “I won’t say anything, don’t worry.” 

Tony scrunches his brows together. The conversation had begun with a few promises of grievous bodily harm, but it seems to have concluded quite peacefully to Tony’s genuine surprise, “Wait, you’re…okay? With this?” 

Alex shrugs with one shoulder, “Would it change anything if I wasn’t?”

And to be perfectly honest, Tony actually has to think about it. Because while he no doubt _wants_ to be with Ash, he wonders if a lack of Alex’s approval _would_ change anything. Would Alex’s opinions have an impact on Ash’s choices? He’d deny it, of course, determined to be his own person, but who knows how devoted Ash is to this thing they’ve got going on? Especially in the face of hypothetical disapproval from his family and peers. 

Exactly how much value did Ash put on this relationship? 

“I’m fine with it,” Alex says when Tony doesn’t reply, "just don't fuck this up." 

“I’ll do my best,” Tony vows, like a suitor trying to impress the beau’s father, except the father is a chainsaw-wielding twin, “Hey, Alex?”

“Hm?” 

“About Ash, um…this might be a weird question—”

“Wait,” Alex interjects, holding her hand up, “what is the nature of this question?” 

Tony narrows his eyes, “Not explicitly sexual, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” 

Alex nods in acceptance, “You may proceed.” 

“Is he…is he usually this frigid?” 

“Whaddya mean?” 

“What I mean is…we’ve held hands—” Tony explains.

“Congrats,” Alex interrupts. 

“—but that’s it.” 

Alex thinks for a bit, finger tapping against her lip absent-mindedly as she stares over his shoulder, “Hmm, weird,” she answers unhelpfully, “he’s usually pretty chill about this relationship stuff. Usually not this hush-hush or virgin Mary-like.” 

“Oh,” Tony says, as an uneasy feeling begins to swirl inside him, “okay." 

—

Tony waits. 

And waits. 

And waits.

He wants to patient, had even said he would be. But there’s so much hesitation that Tony feels lonely, even more so than before. He doesn’t want to feel like this, not when he’s got Ash. He thought he’d be happier. 

Instead, his hand feels emptier and his heart feels colder. 

 

**17: “Are you upset with me?” + 30: “So that’s it? It’s over?”**

A carnival. 

One has sprung up out of nowhere, with bright string lights, carousels, and carnies holding candy floss, all seemingly bursting out from thin air in a flourish of confetti. Alex rounds them all up for a big group trip and because it’s Alex, nobody is allowed to say no, although Tony would be lying if he said the put-out and reluctant attitude wasn’t just a façade to mask his excitement.

They step through the entrance, and immediately they’re engulfed in a kaleidoscope of vivid reds, greens, yellows, blues, accompanied by the sounds of children yelling and laughing, and workers calling out to the masses to attract them to test their strength or luck. Music plays from God knows where, discordant trumpet noises that seem to still hold on to some vague semblance of tune. 

“Where do we even start?” Alex says, eyes exploring the area.

“Is there a food stall somewhere?” Mark asks, scratching his beard, “Could really use a snack.” 

“Seconded,” Corey says, lifting up her hand like a child in a classroom, “I’m starving.” 

“Guns,” Ash suggests, “I wanna win something huge.” 

“Seconded,” Alex then mimics. 

“Thirded,” Tony joins in, “I’m gonna kick both your asses.” 

Alex scoffs, “You fucking what? When’s the last time you even properly shot a gun?” 

“I don’t know,” Tony replies with a shrug, “probably the same time as you, you chainsaw-wielding fuck.” 

Corey snickers. 

“Oh,” Alex says, looking offended, voice dropping, “you’re _on_.”

—

“Piece of shit,” Alex mutters venomously at the gun in her hand before she drops it unceremoniously onto the counter. 

“Hey, hey,” the carnie calls out, “no breaking the equipment, please, ma’am.” 

“Equipment? It’s a piece of shit, that’s what it—”

“I’m sorry about her,” Ash cuts in, pushing a fuming Alex behind him as he steps up, “she’s just upset that I’m about to kick her fucking ass in front of all these kids.”

“Please don’t use that language around the children…” he says but Ash isn’t paying attention. 

The group of small children around them titter at the use of a swear word, but Alex’s hateful gaze cuts it short. Tony also snorts, but a sharp elbow digs into his rib. 

“You didn’t do so well either,” she hisses. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony clicks his tongue and sucks in a breath of air, eyes not leaving the scoreboard, “I did better than you.” 

And Alex growls, pursing her lips and furrowing her eyebrows in a way that reminds Tony of angry kittens and rabid squirrels. She doesn't try to argue because the proof is in front of them, as the carnie writes a huge 140 next to Alex’s name in chalk, one medium-sized wooden duck below Tony’s score of 160.

“This is bullshit,” she mutters under her breath as she folds her arms with a grumpy huff. 

After a few loud bangs, one after another in succession, a bell dings, just as Ash shoots his last shot. The stage is empty. There are no targets left standing, and no ammunition left in the gun. Ash turns around and does a dramatic bow, much to Alex’s chagrin, and the audience claps while they ooh and aah in awe. 

“Um,” the carnie stammers, clearly impressed, “I—I’ve never actually seen someone shoot all of them before, considering there’s less ammo than targets.” 

“The moving ones overlap sometimes,” Ash explains, cocky tone matching the smug smile plastered onto his face, “not that hard.” 

“Right, well,” the carnie says, as Ash puts down the gun in front of him, “you win…any of these prizes I guess?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he mumbles, rubbing his hands together as he eyes the prizes available.

Ash picks a plush that, Tony notes, is a tiger with a large body and a tiny head. Alex spares a glance at the choice of plushie, but not a single word leaves her mouth. Tony, on the other hand, nudges Ash when Alex is strutting ahead of them, looking for the next stall to throw money at. 

“Cute,” Tony says simply, quiet enough so that only Ash could hear. 

Ash adjusts the toy tucked under his arm, “Don’t flatter yourself. It was the only good quality prize they had. The only other options I had were a knock-off Finding Nemo plush and some light-up yo-yos.”

Tony laughs good-heartedly at that, but his grin slowly drops when Ash speeds up to go join Alex as she stands next to a “How Hard Can _You_ Punch?” game, cutting their conversation short. 

The stray seed that managed to lodge itself into Tony’s mind is now rooted in his thoughts, and it plagues him. For the past few days, he’s been wondering whether or not Ash actually enjoys being with him or not, if he’s just in this out of pity, or boredom, or if he’s just biding his time so he can figure out how to let Tony down gently. He doesn’t want to pressure Ash into moving too fast—it wouldn’t be fair—but Tony wonders if maybe his feelings constitute ninety percent of this relationship while Ash fills the remaining ten. Because if that was the case, was it fair on Tony? 

He tries to tell himself that he’s overthinking, that he was being ridiculous and deluding himself into thinking all these errant thoughts that have no real evidence to back them up. Except there kind of is, with the way Ash doesn’t just hesitate, but recoils at times from even the lightest touch, never initiating contact or even messaging first except for the when he’s asking when is a good time they can go to that place that Mark found with all the gang members and coke-dealers.

Tony watches as Ash shakes his hand and rolls his shoulder, getting ready to punch the little bag hanging above his head. He’s laughing with his sister who is clutching the tiger plush to her chest, and Tony can’t stop himself from feeling irrationally jealous. Of course they were close, they were _twins_ —might as well be siamese twins with how close they were. But he can’t help the feeling of envy that claws at his gut. 

He’s not asking for much. He’s not wanting Ash to reveal his innermost vulnerabilities. He just wants Ash to not be so tense whenever he’s around him, wants him to show Tony that there’s _something_ on his side. Tony wants to feel like he’s actually with someone. 

A loud voice booms into the air, announcing that they’re about to set off some fireworks soon, and the greatest place to be to watch the sparks crash and explode above the glimmering sea is on the pier a few metres away from where Tony is currently standing. With one last look at the two, his hands find their way into his pockets and he makes his way to the landing above the water just as he hears Ash punch a bag and fail, judging by the way Alex whoops and cheers and tells Ash how much of a bird-boned fucker he is. 

“Alright, Tony,” he hears Alex call out, “it’s your tu—where’d he go?” 

— 

Navigating through the swarm of children is harder than he expected. When the sixth kid runs past and shoves him out of the way with a gleeful squeal as he runs after his friends, Tony takes a deep breath before he’s taken away for knocking out a small child. He rubs the tip of his nose. It’s getting a little cold. He looks up.

And then the fireworks begin. 

He watches as a line of bright white soars through the air, high above the music and the laughter, before it cracks open into a flurry of pinks and yellows. A second one follows, showering the audience with green and purple. And then there’s a third, a fourth, and the night sky becomes an explosive, dynamic painting of a neon bouquet. The people around him fall from excited chatter to being oddly quiet, mesmerised by the explosions in the sky. 

He finds himself being one of them. 

Maybe he was being stupid, maybe not. 

Tony shakes his head to clear out his mind, but his heart is feeling a little bit too heavy right now.

Maybe he was being too hopeful thinking that this thing between him and Ash would work. And now he’s gone and pushed them into…whatever this arrangement is, and possibly ruined things. 

He sighs. 

“Tony?” a voice reaches him, and he turns around. Ash is there. 

“‘Oh, sup.”

“You missed your turn to show off your huge arm muscles,” Ash says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the stand they were at, “Alex beat me so she’s off to gloat to Corey and Mark.” 

Tony snorts, “Ten bucks says she’ll tell them that she also wasted you at the shooting stall?” 

“Don’t have that kind of money on me,” Ash replies, a small smile adorning his face, “Why…why’d you ditch?” 

And Tony’s heart plummets, all his toxic thoughts bubbling back up to the surface of his mind, “Fireworks,” he answers simply, looking up. 

“Ah,” Ash says, following Tony’s gaze just as one screams through the air and sends light flying across the dark canvas. Tony looks back to see the different colours reflect in his eyes and dye his pale skin with pastels. 

They stand there in silence watching the fireworks together. Tony wants to curl a finger around Ash’s, but he forces himself to curl them into fists, lest Ash run off like a stray kitten. 

“Do you…” Tony begins, but decides to arrange his question differently, “where is this going?” 

“What?” 

“This,” Tony says, pointing between them, “where is this headed?” 

After a brief pause, “Are you upset with me?” Ash asks sincerely, eyes boring into Tony’s, “is this why you decided to walk off?” 

He looks away and sighs, “I’m just…wondering if you’re forcing yourself to do this because you _want_ to or because you’re… _bored_ ,” Tony answers. 

Ash’s brows furrow, “Bored? No, that’s—that’s not it,” Ash shakes his head, “I’m not forcing myself. What brought this on?” 

“Nothing, I was—I was just thinking about this—about us, and,” Tony begins to walk, so they can speak more in private, expecting Ash to follow, “I just—I can’t tell if you actually _want_ this or not.” 

“I—I do…” Ash trails off, but his voice gets lost in the boom of the fireworks.

“Well, it kinda…doesn’t feel like it,” Tony says. 

Ash stops, and Tony turns around.

“Why? Because I’m not putting out?” 

“Ash,” Tony begins, quietly because he _knows_ that this is only going to go one way, and that’s downwards. 

“Is that it?” 

“No, it’s not,” Tony keep his voice level, “but it’s hard when you’re seeing someone who doesn’t even want to hold your hand, or—even fucking message first.” 

Ash speaks up, furrowing his brows, “That’s because I—I just don’t feel…ready to do anything else. You said you could wait.” 

Tony pauses, waiting for more, but Ash doesn’t continue, so he speaks instead, “I thought I could, but...answer me honestly,” Tony steps closer, “do you want this?”

Ash doesn’t respond immediately. He ducks his head, eyes averted.

“Because if you don’t,” Tony says, “then maybe…maybe we should…” 

The hesitation that Ash displays is already an answer in itself. Nevertheless, Tony asks him again. 

“Do you want this?”

Ash opens and closes his mouth, runs his tongue across his bottom lip, “I—I don’t know what I want.” 

Tony steps back. His heart feels like it’s pumping lead, and his head feels numb. 

“Ok.” 

“But I didn’t…I didn’t _not_ like this, Tony,” Ash says as Tony breathes in and casts his eyes around, not willing to meet Ash’s.

Tony then shakes his head, because he already got the answer he needed, he didn’t need to hear Ash feeling sorry for him, “It’s fine. Maybe we dived into this a little too fast, maybe…maybe I should have waited so we could’ve thought more about where this could’ve gone. At least we gave it a go.” 

Ash swallows, “So that’s it? It’s over?” he asks too-softly, and Tony swears he hears a hint of guilt, but also a hint of relief. 

Tony nods, feeling his heart grow so heavy that he struggles to keep his voice steady, “Yeah, I guess so.” 

—

The silence and pain that hits him when he steps foot in his apartment feels like an arrow to the chest. He wants to succumb to the cliche and drink until his emotions melt away into numbness, but when he rummages through his fridge, all he has are a few cans of beer. 

So instead he clocks out early, sleeping on top of his covers, staring at his ceiling.

It shouldn’t have surprised him because Ash is, and always will be, out of his reach. 

It was his fault for ever thinking otherwise.

But still, it hurts. 

So much. 

—

“What do you mean? You guys barely even started dating!” she screeches into the phone and Tony has to hold the phone a couple of inches from his ear to prevent his eardrum from bursting.

When Alex found out about what had happened, she had been seemingly more upset about the whole thing than Ash had been. 

Tony made the conscious decision to let Alex know before she heard it from Ash, like tearing off a band-aid. Barely seconds passed after he pressed send, when his phone began to vibrate violently with an incoming call, as if channelling her rage.

“Yeah, I know, but…” Tony sighs, “I guess we just thought us…being together…maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do.” 

“It’s a shame,” she said, “he seemed genuinely happy.” 

“Well, maybe he’ll be happier now, now that he’s tried it and found out it wasn’t what he actually wanted.” 

The prolonged silence on the other end of the line is unnerving. 

“Have you come to that conclusion for yourself as well, Tony?” 

“Hmm?”

“After…whatever that was,” she continues, “did you find that it was what you wanted?” 

Tony sighs deeply. He had been the one to officially cut things off, sure, but that was because if it were the other way around, hearing those words coming out of Ash’s mouth would have been devastating. He needed to do it before Ash had the chance. 

It didn’t mean he wanted to. 

“If I said yes,” Tony began, “it wouldn’t change anything, would it?” 

“No,” Alex said quietly, after a brief pause, “I suppose it wouldn’t.” 

 

**59: “You own my heart.” + 54: “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”**

A few weeks later finds the twins lazing on the couches in front of the TV.

“What are you so afraid of?” Alex asks Ash, with her legs hanging off the arm of one couch. He’s reclining on the other, with a plate of cheesy nachos for late dinner balanced on his belly when the question catches him unawares.

“What?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” she says, and when he remains quiet she pushes, “why are you doing this to yourself?” 

Alex kicks her legs lazily in the air, waiting expectantly for an answer. 

Breaking things off with Tony should have filled him with relief—at least, that was what he’d been hoping for. Instead, all he got was a strange knot of unease at the base of his ribcage. When they’d first started, he’d initially experienced a heart-racing blend of elation and nervousness and excitement, but it was all too quickly replaced with apprehension and anxiety. Tony was so _good_. He was so uncharacteristically good to Ash, despite their previous run-ins back when they’d both informally tagged each other as rivals unbeknownst to the other. It was a completely different version of Tony, and Ash, he loved it.

He basked in the sweetness, the warmth, and he enjoyed it so much that it scared him. He didn’t know how to reciprocate. He wanted this so much, but he didn’t know how to show it, and he knew that deep down inside, he didn’t _deserve_ it. Ash had never been warm to Tony, so it was a mystery as to why Tony treated him with so much patience and delicacy. 

This was something that Ash wouldn’t be allowed to have for long. So he distanced himself. If this was going to be taken from him—if Tony was to come to his senses and realise that Ash wasn’t worth it, it will be before these feelings could find root deep inside Ash, before they could embed themselves around his nerves so that their removal would leave scars. A little bit of hurt, maybe, but nothing long-lasting. 

“I don’t know, Alex,” he sighs, rubbing his eye with the palm that isn’t sitting in the nachos, “I guess I’m…scared. Scared of ruining things, and hurting, and being hurt in the process. It’s just…a lot.” 

Tilting her head, Alex replies, “A little too late for that, don’t you think?” 

“So imagine if we’d continued for longer,” Ash says, a little frustrated, “the damage would be—”

“What damage?” she said, cutting him off. 

“The damage when—you know, when things ended.” 

“See, that’s the issue with you,” Alex says, her voice level but her tone stern, waving her arms in the air, “you said ‘ _when_ things ended’. You went in with the mentality that things were never going to work out, and that’s why they didn’t. You never even gave it a _chance_ because you were already preparing for it to fail.”  
“I—”

“Tony gave you so much,” she begins, softly, and Ash feels his heart leap at the mere mention of his name, “you know, he spoke to me about you.” 

“Why?” 

“He was always asking about you, wondering if you actually wanted to be with him or not. I have never seen him so vulnerable,” Alex says, “I don’t know how but you managed to worm your little self into that caged inferno that is his heart, but you did, and you know what you did? You just stomped all over it, all over his heart like a…like a—”

“Can we just—clarify the situation,” Ash begins, holding out a hand and a little flustered because since when did Alex become such good friends with Tony? Since when was she so ready to take his side and defend Tony’s honour? Ash shoves some more nachos into his mouth, “ _he_ dumped _me_. Technically.”

“Technically,” Alex repeats, levelling him with a very unimpressed expression. 

“Yes, technically.” 

Alex folds her arms, turning her head to look at him, “Technically, as in, that’s what _actually_ happened but if _he_ hadn’t done the dumping, then _you_ would’ve done it, am I right?” 

“N-no, what I’m saying is, you’re accusing me of…of breaking his heart—which is probably not as fragile as you appear to think—when really it was _him_ that ended things in the first place!” 

“Because of you!” Alex exclaims, and Ash is taken aback again by the fervour with which she argues for Tony. He still doesn’t understand why this is happening, and he sees her swing her legs over to sit upright on the couch, “You made him believe that you didn’t give a _shit_ about him when _clearly_ you do. I don’t know why you’re torturing yourself like this, Ash. It obviously hurts you, and you’ve _definitely_ hurt him. What do you get from this? Why not just enjoy what you had? Sure, it might end, and you might get hurt, but is this not the same? Just…without the actual _nice_ stuff in between? You essentially just took a shortcut to the heartbreak hotel.” 

And at that Ash stands up without another word. It’s too much. He marches into the kitchen, throws his empty plate into the sink, and goes into his room. He flops face down onto his bed, letting Alex’s words sink in. 

She was right. He’d never admit it to her face but…she was right. 

—

Tony tries to date again.

He meets some new people and with some of them he thinks, maybe this would work.

They don't. 

It goes on for a couple of weeks, with the same thing looping over and over again. The girl who owned an art gallery, the guy who was studying dentistry. As soon as he meets someone that he thinks could possibly be the one, like every other relationship before them, it would fall flat. The reasons showed a trend; Tony wasn’t attentive enough, Tony wasn’t romantic enough, Tony wasn’t generous enough.

And then he thinks that maybe, in the short period of time that he had him, or maybe it started long before that, he’d given too much of himself to Ash and now there’s those parts of himself that he can’t get back. The parts that know how to love.

He wants them back. 

He wants to be able to love someone else the way he loved Ash. 

—

It takes him several days and a hundred cleared messages to finally steel himself. 

He types out overly-formal, long-winded apologies that he then backspaces into oblivion, he writes short, concise messages that he drafts and deletes because they’re too curt and impersonal. He stares at the blank message field with that blinking cursor, egging him on to just _write something_. His finger hovers over Tony’s contact on his phone, millimetres away from hearing him pick up and speak to him in that voice that reminds Ash of burning firewood. 

It’s on a sleepless night, when he’d practically sleep-walked to the kitchen for a snack, that he finally messages him. Before he can second-guess himself, he forces himself to press send, not even caring to proof-read the text he’d hurriedly composed, all while fatigued and sleep-deprived. Throwing his phone onto the kitchen counter, he goes to get himself a self-congratulatory snack from the pantry. 

He doesn’t even get to opening the packet of digestives when his phone vibrates and he practically drops the biscuits to run to his phone. 

—

“—was a teenager, I always thought I would be like, working at Google or something but…that didn’t really work out,” the guy in front of him says. He has a head of carefully-styled dark brown hair, and glasses perched on the delicate bridge of his nose. Tony has watched him adjust and re-adjust them a total of twenty-seven times in the past five minutes. 

He’s nerdy, but sufficiently cute, not usually Tony’s type—Tony’s type usually didn’t wear cardigans to a bar—but Tony’s casting a wide net right now, and at least the pair of jeans is a _very_ nice fit. He’s at least better than the girl he was meant to be on a date with tonight, the date which ended with her neck deep in mojitos crying about how much she missed her ex and how much Tony resembled him. In the end he’d all but thrown her into a taxi and sent her straight home. The original plan was then to get wasted alone—until he met this guy. 

“That sucks,” Tony responds absent-mindedly, leaning back on the bar stool and stretching out his legs. His foot brushes against the inside of the guy’s ankle, and he watches a blush creep onto his cheeks. Too easy. 

“A-anyway, I’m just sorta…wanting to slowly work my way towards something like that,” he stammers, itching at a spot on his neck.

“That’s cool,” Tony says, his interest not in the conversation but in the smooth, pale skin in front of him, “So…not to be rude but, you don’t really…seem like the kind of guy who hangs around bars waiting to get picked up by guys like me.” 

“Oh,” the other man nervously laughs, and again, fixes the glasses to sit nicer, “You’re right, I don’t—I don’t usually do this. In fact I’ve—I’ve never done this before. Been picked up at a bar, I mean. I’ve been to bars before.” 

Tony sees the way he heats up, fidgeting with his hands on the counter as Tony leans in, while maintaining contact with his foot against his ankle, rubbing it slowly. 

“Why are you here now, then?” Tony asks, voice low. 

The other man swallows before replying, “R-rough couple of days,” he stutters as Tony’s eyes flicker to his lips. 

“Hm,” Tony hums, cocking his head to the side and locking eyes again, “so you’re here for some stress relief.” 

He can see the other’s breathing pick up, “Yeah, just some—some relief.” 

Tony smirks. 

—

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, “oh my _God_.” 

Tony fucks into him with brutal strength, filling the room with the sounds of heavy breathing and the creaking of springs as they strain under the weight and movement above. He’s got the man on all fours in front of him, back arching and legs shaking. Tony hasn’t said a word since they started, until he leans forward,

“I’m gonna come,” Tony mutters deep into his ear, nosing at the soft brown strands that curl around his ear. 

True to his word, Tony feels the orgasm build-up before he releases it into the receptive body beneath him, reaching around to jerk the other off quickly. He feels him tense up, and then he’s coming as well with a small cry, before sagging into the mattress, the only thing supporting him being Tony keeping his hips in the air. When Tony pulls out and he’s finally released, he sighs and melts into the blankets. 

“Holy fuck you’re amazing,” the man breathes out, rolling onto his back. 

Tony joins him, splaying out on the bed, “Could say the same to you.”

He was a satisfying fuck but Tony still felt…unsatisfied. Not at fault of the guy whose name Tony hadn’t even asked for, but because Tony himself had trouble letting go. He stares up at the ceiling. He’d been thinking of someone else the entire time. He pushes himself up, opening the drawer beside him. 

Tony lights a cigarette. 

He checks his phone.

—

_i know it’s late. i’m sorry. can u meet me? (1:23 am)_

_always (1:23 am)_

—

He tells him there’s an emergency, and the man is understanding.

“So this isn’t like, a thing, is it?” he asks carefully, pulling his arm through his cardigan sleeve, “I mean, you’re not wanting more—I—don’t get me wrong, I think you’re great—amazing, but um, I—”

“No,” Tony assures him, before he bursts a blood vessel, “it’s not.” 

The man exhales, “Okay,” he puts his glasses back on, “good. Thanks, for…you know.” 

“My pleasure,” Tony replies with a grin. 

And then he throws on whatever clothes he’s got lying around, and when the guy is gone, Tony leaves as well. 

—

It’s surprisingly warm out.

There’s the musical chirping of crickets, an audience to watch as the boards creak under his weight. The faint outlines of dark clouds illuminated by the pale halo of the moon drift above. He spins his phone lazily between his fingers. 

“You realise how cliché this is, don’t you?” Tony says, approaching the tall figure leaning over the railing. 

They’re meeting on the pier, where they stood a couple of weeks ago, except this time there’s no bright lights or children screaming. No bright fireworks, no games, no scent of buttery popcorn. Just the balmy night air, and the stillness of the water stretching out into the distance like a dark, inky mirror. 

“Would you have preferred to meet at a park or an alleyway?” Ash says, still looking over the water, “It’s almost two in the morning, I didn’t want to look like a pair of suspicious characters up to no good.” 

Ash looks lovely under the light of the moon, Tony finds himself thinking. It glances off his skin, smooth as silk, his cheekbones highlighted by silver. Tony wants to tell him that he looks beautiful. He doesn’t. 

“It _is_ almost two in the morning,” Tony says instead, “why’d you message me to meet you now?” 

“Were you busy?”

“Nah,” Tony waves dismissively in the air, “he’s gone home now.”

“Oh,” Ash says softly. He’d barely even registered what he’d said, until the flash of hurt cut its way across Ash’s features. Tony regrets it instantly, even though he’d meant for it to be light-hearted. 

“It was nothing, he was just a quick—” Tony backpedals, “I wasn’t busy.” 

“Is he nice?”

“He was ok,” Tony answers, “like I said, it was nothing, we just met at the bar. I don’t have his number or his name.” 

Ash taps his fingers against the railing, “Okay.”

A breeze picks up. 

“So…” Tony says slowly, “why’d you want to meet?”

Ash worries at his bottom lip, “I…I wanted to apologise.” 

“Apologise?” 

“For fucking things up,” Ash begins, “for making you feel like you weren’t important. For giving you no choice but to end things between us.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say, “Ash—”

“Truth is,” Ash continues, staring at the water in front of them, “I was scared. I was scared of ruining things, and I was scared that you’d fall out of love with me. I thought to myself that…that you were too good for me, and you’d eventually realise that for yourself. Fuck, I didn’t want to hear you finally tell me that you’d stopped loving me. I don’t think you know how much that would ruin me. That’s why I didn’t throw myself into it, that’s why I acted the way I did. I kept my distance because I wanted to play it safe, and then I wanted to quit while I was ahead so that you couldn’t hurt me. It was selfish, I know, and because of that…I’d hurt you instead. And you know what the stupid thing is? It still fucking hurt.” 

Ash laughs cynically before he turns to him, “I’m sorry, I know this probably isn't enough, but I just want you to know that I—” 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

The words get lost in Tony’s own mouth.

And then with only a breath in between, he kisses him again. His lips are dry and warm. He cradles Ash’s head in his hands, rubs his thumbs against Ash’s cheeks, runs his fingers along the shell of his ears, feeling the way Ash leans into the contact like a cat, and kisses him. His skin is warm beneath his touch, so warm, and Tony loves it. He’s wanted to do this for so long, and the tight feeling in his chest becomes too much, and it bursts, releasing an overwhelming feeling of adoration. He feels cold fingers curl over his own, keeping them in place. Ash kisses him back, his mouth soft against Tony’s. When they break apart, Ash murmurs against his lips, 

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” 

Tony smiles, “And you won’t have to.” 

Ash steps back, but he makes no move to fully detach himself from Tony. He keeps the fingers of his right hand linked with Tony’s. 

Tony continues, “You own my heart.” 

Ash kisses him again with the passion and attention that he’d been missing for the last couple of months, and Tony’s heart ignites. 

 

**109: “Why are you naked?” + 158: “This is awkward.”**

“Tony!” Alex calls out, banging on the door of his apartment, “Tony!” 

She jiggles the doorknob, and finds that it’s unlocked. Irresponsible. She’s probably going to have to have a talk with him about leaving his apartment open to every stranger that may want to barge in. But not right now, there are more pressing matters at hand than Tony’s disregard for personal security.

“Are you in your room? This is important, Tony!” she calls out, making a beeline for his bedroom. In her attempt to dodge the carpet of empty beer cans, she knocks her shin against the edge of his coffee table and she hisses in pain as her hand flies to grip her leg. She still presses on, however, and continues limping towards his room, rubbing her shin along the way. 

“Tony, have you seen Ash? I heard Ash leave in the middle of the night last night and he hasn’t replied to my texts,” she rambles, opening the bedroom door, spotting the head of short brown hair, “usually I wouldn’t give a shit but he’s been having a bit of a shit time lately, and I’m worried he’s gone out and done something really, really stupid. Have you heard from him or—wait, are you naked? Why are you naked? Do you usually sleep naked?”

“Alex, shh,” Tony attempts to quiet her, shifting to pull the blanket over his unclothed torso, and pointing at the hitherto unnoticed second lump in the bed, currently obscured by the thick blanket. 

“Oh…right. Makes sense, sorry about—actually, you know what? I don’t care,” Alex dismisses, “Tony, tell her, him, whatever, to get out so you can come help me find Ash. I dunno where he could be. He’s probably lying in an alleyway covered in his own puke or something. Wouldn’t be the first time. ” 

“Don’t think so,” Tony says. 

“What? You’re not gonna help? Or you somehow know that he isn’t passed out on the side of the road?” 

In a wordless response, Tony pulls the blanket down, revealing the short blond hair currently resting beside him, still snoring away. Living with Alex must have helped Ash develop an immunity to her loud and dream-shattering voice. He holds both hands out to point at Ash. 

“Who’s here?” he hears Ash mumble as he finally wakes up from the sudden flood of light as the shelter of blanket is torn from him, “It’s so…loud.” 

“That,” Tony begins, “would be your sister.” 

“Oh okay,” he whispers, dropping his head back down onto the pillow, only for it to shoot right back up, “oh my God.”

All semblance of exhaustion and sleepiness is shaken off, and Ash quickly grabs handfuls of enough blanket to cover up any exposed parts of his skin. He scoots up the bed, curling himself into a ball to maximise coverage with the duvet. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, an accusation lurking in his words. 

“Well, you disappeared last night,” Alex explains, “I messaged Corey and Mark and they didn’t know where you were. I was about to message Tony but then my phone died, so I thought to come here and—and ask,” her voice trailing off at the end, indignation making way for discomfort. 

Alex crosses her arms over her chest and glances around the room, trying not to land her gaze on anything incriminating. Discarded clothes, their states of undress, used cond—oh that’s just gross. It’s too late, the image has already seared itself behind her eyelids. 

“Oh,” is all Ash says, sinking a tiny bit further into the blanket clenched in his fists. 

The single syllable injects the air with a tense vibe. Everyone remains where they are, reluctant to be the one to break the silence. Alex settles for staring at the door handle. Is that brass? 

“Um,” Tony says, clearly his throat, scratching at the side of his neck, feeling a bit sorry for Alex who is—surprisingly—still standing here, “we uh…we made up.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says, a little too quickly, “I can see that. I mean, um…I’m happy for you guys, really, that’s uh…that’s great. I was worried that—anyway, that’s wonderful…” she claps her hands together, signalling the end of her ramble, “this…is awkward. Really, really awk—you know what? I’ll just go,” she lifts both hands up, “I can show myself out, no need to—yeah, I’ve got it. Thanks. See you guys later.”

As she leaves with a hurried swish of blonde ponytail, Ash exhales.

“That was so fucking awkward, dude.” 

Tony leans his head on the wall behind him, and joins Ash in his long exhale, “Yup.” 

They don’t move for a few seconds after her exit, but Tony feels something warm press against his shoulder. He turns his head, and Ash leans up to kiss him again, but this time on the lips, gentle and slow. 

“We should get up,” Tony suggests as they break away, and Ash responds by burrowing further into the blanket. 

“Nah,” he says simply. 

And Tony shrugs, before joining Ash beneath the covers to gather him up and pull him closer. He holds Ash against him until the rhythmic beating of their hearts and their shared warmth slowly lulls them both back to sleep. 

 

**110: “You did what?!” + 47: “You’re cute when you’re angry.”**

**Do a barrel roll:** ready for tonight everyone? _(11:15 pm)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** rdy!!! what time _(11:19 pm)_

 **Do a barrel roll:** maybe soon? can go after midnight if u guys prefer. what does everyone think? _(11:20 pm)_

**Leatherface:** soon is good for me _(11:23 pm)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** sounds good!! tony ? ash? _(11:26 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** shold be ok.but we may be late bc i think ash gonna kill me. _(11:28 pm)_

 **Leatherface:** lmaoooo whatd u do. _(11:28 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** dented his car w bmy bike today n then accidnetlay ate his dinner i thot it was leftovers for me but didnt realize he didnt eat ): _(11:29 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** fucker ate my dinner and now i don’t have anything to eat. _(11:29 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** wait what. _(11:29 pm)_

 **Do a barrel roll:** oh boy here we go _(11:29 pm)_

**360 no scope:** you did what?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!? _(11:29 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** it can be fixed rly quick i can do it tmrw for u _(11:29 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** u didn’t think to tell me about this before now!!????!!! why didn't u fucking tell me before?????!!???!!!!!!!!! _(11:29 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** tbh was just gonna go do it without u knwoing tmrw lol _(11:30 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** and what was i gonna take to work? ??? ? hm??? or were u just gonna go to my workplace n work on it there???? _(11:30 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** either? _(11:30 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** fuck u _(11:30 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** come to the bedroom n we can arrange that ;) _(11:30 pm)_

 **360 no scope:** no. i fucking hate you. _(11:31 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** ur cute when ur angry. _(11:31 pm)_

 **bane of my existence:** come here. _(11:32 pm)_

 **Leatherface:** can u guys not do this on the group chat? _(11:32 pm)_

—

 **Do a barrel roll:** so…did we ever settle on a meeting time? _(11:55 pm)_

**Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** tony and ash never replied. tony is probs dead. _(11:56 pm)_

 **Leatherface:** F _(11:56 pm)_

 **Akimbo Wombo Combo Bro:** F _(11:56pm)_

 **Do a barrel roll:** rip in pieces tony you were a good man. kind of. _(11:56 pm)_

—

“Don’t think for a second you’re forgiven,” Ash says, settled against Tony’s side. Tony has an arm looped around Ash’s narrow shoulders. Ash feels Tony nuzzle against the crown of his head and he unwillingly melts at the gesture. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony murmurs against his ear, “okay, baby?” 

Ash bites his lip. He’s angry at Tony, he needs to remind himself, and no pet-names dripping into his ear and down his neck in that deep, velvet-smooth voice will change that. Tony’s hand drifts down to his waist and squeezes, before running up to stroke along his last rib. He wasn’t going to let Tony sweet-talk his way out of this. 

“Out of _your_ pocket,” Ash demands, attempting to sound assertive but his voice shakes only slightly at the tail-end when Tony nibbles on his earlobe. 

“Anything you want,” Tony kisses the sensitive spot behind his ear, chuckling softly when Ash fails to suppress the small whimper. Tony knows where all his buttons are, and how exactly to press them, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, alright?” 

Ash nods, turning to meet Tony’s lips, shifting so that he can press even closer. 

“Don’t tell the others that this is why we’re late,” Ash warns him, watching as Tony replies to the group chat, apologising for the delay and confirming a time to meet, “I need them to think I kicked your ass. They won’t let me live this down otherwise.” 

“I wish you’d let me expose you for the minx you really are,” Tony says, tapping away at his phone. 

“And _I_ wish you would just die in a fucking ditch,” Ash says, kissing Tony on the cheek, “but we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Tony laughs, putting his phone away and turning to kiss Ash’s temple. His eyes sparkle like glittering peridots, yet soft in the way they look into Tony’s, haloed by the stark contrast of his lashes. Despite the acidity of his words, Ash’s tone and the half-smile dancing across his lovely face suggest otherwise. 

“We can’t always get what we want?” Tony repeats, cupping his hands around Ash’s nape, running a finger along the soft hairs at the base of his hairline as he feels him relax, “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones then, huh?” 

Ash smiles, closing his eyes, soft in Tony’s hold,

“Hm,” he hums, nuzzling against Tony’s throat, “no, I think that would be me.”

**Author's Note:**

> blease, someone, anyone, help me inflate this raft. it's called the S.S. TonyAsh. i want to personally thank all 4 of y’all that read my stuff for joining me on this journey on the S. S. TonyAsh. bless.


End file.
